


Chains of Frost

by IceFairyChiruno



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, High Elves age like humans do, Warcraft - Freeform, World of Warcraft - Freeform, Wow, academy au, same age au, sylvaina
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 15:45:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17870105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceFairyChiruno/pseuds/IceFairyChiruno
Summary: An alternate take on the invasion of Quel'Thalas, and the distant shared past of Sylvanas Windrunner and Jaina Proudmoore that preceded it.Sylvanas is a student in the Ranger Academy. Jaina is an aspiring mage, visiting the High Elves to learn more about them. And Sylvanas is to be her reluctant guide.Soft high school sapphic love feels. But the grisly prologue should set the tone and expectations for later tragedy to come.(Title inspired by the brilliant Raffinit's Threads of Silk. Dedicated to Slackergami, who encouraged me to write again.)





	1. Prologue

Quel’Thalas was shivering, weeping.

Sylvanas could feel the trees reeling in pain, the insects burrowing deep away to hide, birds taking wing with ragged breaths. There was something sinister trespassing the elven woods, a dark power far colder and sinister than any gnoll or forest troll that usually threatened the peace.

Something that made the land itself reek of death.

The villagers of Fairbreeze were scared. They could sense the Ranger-General’s unease as she scanned the horizon. Word of Lordaeron’s fall a few days prior had spread quickly, but it seemed no-one could confirm the details of who or what had taken it. There were crazed whispers of shambling beings: animated corpses armed with monstrous claws, gigantic spiders like living siege weapons. Sylvanas would not let the populace be brought to terror by such outrageous claims. She could not.

“To me,” she called, rallying her best rangers to her side. “We will scout out this foul presence upon our borders. I would trust only you two to accompany me, but know that our enemy may be one unlike we have ever before faced.”

The two rangers–Sheldaris, the red haired woman, and Vor’athil, the black haired man–bowed to her. “And we entrust you with our lives,” spoke Sheldaris.

The three High Elven warriors set off through the forest, their long, nimble strides helping them skim through the undergrowth of the great trees. The further they closed in on the intruders to the south, they were met with more and more signs of death and decay seeping through the very earth. The soil was loose and empty, the foliage if not rotting was stricken with a grey blight.

And then came the Undead.

Sylvanas pulled her rangers back behind the boughs of the nearest great pine, as the vanguard of the Scourge army crept into sight along the wide path before them. Vor’athil gagged and turned to stop himself from throwing up, while Sheldaris began to shudder and grimace with an intense rage. Sylvanas only gazed on with steely eyes at the horrifically decaying forms of the ghouls that led the march. She counted. _One dozen. Two, three._ Did the three of them have enough arrows to fell them and thereby cut off the head of the snake? Would the rest of the army even be dissuaded by how swiftly their comrades were slain, or were they truly mindless, empty shells? If the latter, who was their brain?

Then a mounted, hooded figure rode slowly into view, and Sylvanas felt her heart freeze.

“Quickly!” She whispered. The two rangers looked at her startled, raising their blows to attention before pausing, seeing the disapproval on her face.

“General,” said Vor’athil, “they are no match for us, surely–”

“Spare your words and your ammo, ranger,” said Sylvanas softly. “You know not what comes for us. You, sound the alarm at the Outer Elfgate, and Sheldaris alert the Inner. Rally the Ranger Corps around your immediate position, and await my signal to defend. Go, now.”

The Ranger General watched her two followers nod and retreat. She turned, sweeping her flaxen locks out of her view, nocking an arrow, and fired. The shot blinked through the air, skewering through the first line of ghouls, felling three in their place.

She shifted her position, treading silently. New cover, draw, aim, fire. Each arrow split skulls, severed arms, or dislocated legs of multiple sorry ghouls at a time. _Fifteen arrows for three dozen ghouls. And one for their leader..._

The hooded figure on horseback stood alone now. Throughout ambush they had merely turned coolly, watching their soldiers be blown apart by elven archery, hardly reacting. But there was an unmistakable intelligence about the way they moved. Their shrouded face flickered rhythmically to the jerking of their back. Almost like laughter.

Sylvanas nocked her last arrow, aimed straight at the middle of the rider’s brow, and fired.

The hooded figure did not move. Before the bolt could could even travel half the distance to reach them, a splinter of magicked ice appeared right in front of the figure’s path, hurtling backwards towards the high elf. The two projectiles collided, both disintegrating into a freezing crystalline mist.

Sylvanas felt the ice in her heart melt away instantly to be replaced by a cold, wrenching flame.

 _She knew that spell_.

The hooded figure ushered their mount forward, a slender gauntleted hand reaching up towards their hood, adjusting it back just enough to reveal a braid of white-streaked, golden hair.

But Sylvanas was already running.

She could not believe who the figure was, nor the musty memories howling, barreling back from the recesses of her mind. The sweet smell of orange blossoms and summer sweat, of hands held, secrets shared. The first shaky touch of soft lips.

She _would_ not believe that it was _her..._


	2. Green Sails, Snow Blossoms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvanas, resident truant Sophomore of Falthrien Academy, gets more than she bargained for when she attracts the attention of a visiting Jaina Proudmoore and unwittingly volunteers to be her guide.

“Quick, look Sylvanas - green sails! Green sails on the horizon!”

Sylvanas barely looked up from where she sat. With deft movements she continued working her blade along the long branch of elm she held upright between her knees, sculpting and smoothening it towards what she hoped would be a fine bow.

“What is it, Shel? What kind of daft trading party could have possibly gotten you so excited?” The young high elf almost yawned, her silver eyes continuing to focus on her handiwork. To Sylvanas, fletching and weaponsmithing were not just mere hobbies to be abandoned to gawk at stray humans venturing into elven territory. She couldn’t trust the wide eyed Sheldaris to hold the same values though.

Sheldaris gave a huff and subdued growl. “No, _you’re_ the daft one! When have you ever seen green sails on our shores before? These are _Kul’Tirans_!”

“Cool- _whatsits_?”

Sylvanas gave a few final burnishing rubs with the handle of her knife against her proto-bow, before setting her tools aside. Grumbling in defeat, she rose to her feet, rubbed hands clean against her tunic, and turned her eyes towards the sea.

They were tall ships–three of them, triple-masted, with sails of teal and emerald. Their hulls were dark and ornately carved, ending in a bow clad in swirling pewter finery. Almost as impressive as elven ship-building, Sylvanas begrudgingly admitted.

“Cool-Terrans? Well for barbarians’ standards, they’re pretty cool I guess.” Sylvanas made a point of ripping her gaze away to stare back at her fletching tools, not wanting to concede too much interest to her human-obsessed friend. “What do you know about them?”

Sheldaris was already halfway down the hill towards the field between them and the port, red pigtails bobbing as she trotted. “You fool,” she yelled, “get your arse over to town. It’s a diplomatic crew and they’ve come to talk treaty–maybe even an alliance. And _all_ Ranger Academy students are meant to receive them!”

Sylvanas’ stomach lurched, and she wheeled around. Her bow-making case was upended, her crafting tools completely scattered in the grass. It would take too long to pack everything up, never mind finding a safe place to stash her would-be bow when they were supposed to stand to attention.

“What about my bow?” The blonde girl yelled.

“Stuff your bow, that’s your _tenth one!_ ”

To Sylvanas that stung a bit. _Seven_ , she corrected mentally. _This is ONLY my seventh_. What could she say, she loved weapons. How was a girl that loved to craft and shoot and fight meant to live with _only_ seven bows?

She kicked her tools into a neat little pile to fetch later, then went to stash her elm branch behind them, when a little pattering of wet and cold upon the back of her neck alerted her to a new enemy.

Rain. Her bow would be ruined.

_Confound it, I’m bringing it._

Branch in tow, she bolted down the hill after her friend. Sylvanas was particularly tall, even for an elven girl of Academy Freshman age, so her strides carried her far. Within a minute she’d already caught up to her red-headed pal, who took a double take at the sight of her willowy friend bolting into view, a giant half-burnished branch under one arm.

Sheldaris couldn’t help but afford a grin. “Nice of you to join, Sylvanas Treehugger.”

“Shut up,” cooed Sylvanas. “Tell me for real though, what’s in it for us to attend?”

“I mean,” puffed Sheldaris. “We’re going to get absolutely torn to shreds by the Headmistress if we’re not checked off on the roll.” She paused mid-thought. “And _you_ with your noble blooded pedigree, you’ll probably be minced an extra couple of times for tarnishing that.”

Sylvanas blushed and scowled. She resented how much of a _thing_ being a Windrunner gave meant to her schooling; rather than giving her a free pass, it tended to mean being held to higher standards than the other students. “Well, I’m here. Honestly though, avoiding the wrath of the Headmistress doesn’t really constitute fun.And I _know_ you’ve got your sights on those human sailors and their square chests and furry beards, Shel. What’s in it for _me?_ ”

Sheldaris shot back her most devastating smirk. “Well... rumour has it that it’s the Lord Admiral making the first visit on behalf of his kingdom. And accompanying him is none other than his _daughter_...”

Sylvanas let out an audible gasp, and almost tripped and dropped her bow-branch. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier!” Her fluttering heart got the better of her and her limbs began to move with a renewed strength and mind of their own. Without really thinking about it, she powered ahead, her strides leaving her smaller friend in the dust.

Sheldaris could only manage a feeble sigh, rolling her eyes to herself as she struggled to catch up.

“Typical you, Sylvanas Girlkisser.”

 

 *     *     *     *     * 

 

The Kul’Tiran ships were already berthing as Sylvanas and Sheldaris stumbled through the streets of Sunstrider Port towards the docks. Above them on shining flagpoles were standards of silver and blue, emerald and teal. The elven guards flanking the main thoroughfare into the harbour shot the girls disapproving and concerned looks as the two hurtled past. From a distance, it looked like the Academy’s teachers and Seniors were already standing read to welcome the delegation from the main flagship, who were just about to disembark. Sylvanas breathed a sigh of relief, seeing a chance to sneak through and join her peers.

They slipped quietly through the lines of students into the ranks of the other Sophomores, though not without a little awkward shouldering and elbowing to clear the path. Sheldaris offered soft and profuse apologies. Sylvanas kept her composure and her mouth closed but could feel dagger-stares from the other elven youths as she nearly knocked a few of them over with the giant branch she cradled. As they finally settled into their positions, the girls glanced at each other and shared a sigh of relief before a nasally voice piped up from their right.

“You two are going to be the _death_ of me. You especially, Windrunner.”

Sylvanas glared back at the speaker, none other than the spidery, raven-haired boy known as Vor’athil, the Sophomores’ Head of Year. “Me? How did you know it was me.”

Vor’athil grimaced. “Because Shel is a good student who never forgets her schedule, and doesn’t waste time forging weapons made out of _every conceivable tree_ she comes across.” He rolled his eyes and gestured towards the congregation near the ships. “You’re lucky they haven’t checked our attendance yet. And every time you go gallivanting off into the woods, I have to come up with an explanation.”

Sylvanas ear tips quivered and reddened at her classmate’s words. “No need for such venomous words Vor, I do have feelings you know. It’s usually our day off and I just wanted to have fun. And Shel was there to bring me into line so, no harm done.”

Vor’athil gave a considered nod. “For now,” he admitted, turning his eyes back towards the moored ships. “The guests seem to be finally ashore. Once our teachers have received them, we will have to greet them next.”

“Easy,” scoffed Sylvanas.

“Um, Syl…” whispered Sheldaris, nudging her friend and looking her up and down with some concern. “Your tunic…”

Sylvanas glanced down, and her stomach dropped. Her typically freshed sky-blue tunic was covered in a smattered mix of wood shavings, grass, and dirt. And her position among their ranks put her in the very front row, at the side closest to where the Kul’Tiran delegation would pass.

“Uh,” she said with a gulp, “anybody want to swap with me? Or at least take my bow?”

Nobody said a word. Rather, the rest of the students (minus a petrified Sheldaris) promptly linked arms, locking Sylvanas in her place. Oh there would be a reckoning from the teachers of course, for a dirty student putting the Academy to shame. But for the majority of them, the punishment for that paled in comparison to the thrill of throwing the good Windrunner name deep into the mud.

The delegation approached the Sophomore ranks. Headmistress Fallari led the way, her deep blue ranger’s cloak and silver pauldrons shining. Next to her walked a circle-beaded human man in foppish attire of admiralty: feathered bicorne, brass buttons, and shoulder tassels all, and a permanent expression of puzzled concentration on his face. Sylvanas blinked. _This_ was Kul’Tiras’ Admiral?

Fallari motioned to her gathered students with flourish of her arm. “And these, Lord Admiral Proudmoore, are the second-years of the Academy. With the Freshmen on duty on school grounds, these represent the youngest and finest of our emerging Rangers–the exemplars of a new generation of–” Her voice faltered as her eyes caught upon the bedraggled form of Sylvanas on the near corner, arms wrapped around her bow-branch, trying to stand tall to attention but clearly quaking with embarrassment. The Headmistress completely lost track of her words, managing only to mouth silently at her delinquent student:

_Windrunner, what the hell!_

Admiral Daelin Proudmoore was nodding along sleepily to the Headmistress’ speech but stopped too alongside her pause, blue eyes narrowing in on the quivering blonde elven girl before him, madly cuddling her stick. He bushy face creaked into a wry smile. “Your finest, Fallari?”

“…Except that one,” replied Fallari coldly.

Daelin laughed and leaned in closer to Sylvanas, whose ear tips began to redden and vibrate. “Don’t be so harsh, Headmistress. I trust that she’s earned a place in your care for a reason. I’m just surprised to see you’re taking on simple farm girls as well. How very generous of you.”

Fallari’s eyes blistered into smouldering coals. Sylvanas seemed to be vibrating fast enough to generate a low hum. Fallari hissed, “Oh she’s not quite a simple farm girl, Lord Admiral, but the truth would be far too depressing to share. Come now, let’s not waste our time.”

The Headmistress and the Lord Admiral continued past the crowd, the rest of the delegation following behind them. The Seniors of the academy all looked down upon Sylvanas with a mixture of judgment and pity as they passed. The Sophomores flanking her and holding her in place began to snicker. _Please let this be over,_ thought Sylvanas.

“A farm girl did you say, Papa?” called a bright voice from beyond the back of the delegation.

Sylvanas and the rest of the students turned. Skipping towards them was a human girl of similar age, her hair a darker golden blonde than Sylvanas’ own, tied into a neat side braid just past her shoulder. Wearing a smart sailor-trim white shirt and navy pants, she marched right up to the line of students where Sylvanas was trapped and stood, hands on her hips surveying her.

“Yes, your Highness,” chuckled Vor’athil from the side. “This is our finest specimen of peasantry, Sylvanas Windrunner, descended from a long line of country serfs and servants.”

“Charmed,” said the human girl, her sapphire eyes sparkling. “My name is Jaina.” She offered her hand for the elf girl to shake, but upon seeing her quite occupied with her bow-branch, settled for petting her awkwardly on the arm instead.

Sylvanas blushed scarlet. This was not the kind of suave situation she would have chosen to meet Admiral’s daughter in. “The pleasure is mine, Jaina,” she stammered, “but do not trust these _fool_ classmates of mine. I am no farm girl. I am the second-eldest daughter of the noble house of Win–”

“Oh don’t belittle your heritage!” said Jaina, wagging a finger at her. “Where I come from, farms are scarce and their workers highly respected. We have far too many sailors and fishmongers and live on a very briny seaside diet. Those who til the land to bring us wine, bread, and fresh produce are highly regarded.”

Sylvanas really couldn’t tell if this girl was being serious or not. Her classmates seemed to not believe it either; Vor’athil seemed to especially bristle at the thought that he had elevated his most scorned peer in the eyes of their royal visitor.

“Which is why,” continued Jaina, “I have come here. My father has no need of my company to sign this treaty, but I wanted to experience life in the High Elven wilds first hand. I hear there is a different kind of magic here, a closeness to the trees and animals. I want to learn more about your kind.”

 _Your kind_ , thought Sylvanas. _Wonderful. Another clueless human anthropologist._

“In any case, I will be enrolling at the West Sanctum on exchange for the year. But I will be in need of a guide to show me around.” Jaina turned to all the students, beaming. “Is there anyone who you would recommend?”

Instantly, the Sophomores all moved as as one and shoved Sylvanas forward, shouting in chorus: “She’ll do it!”

Sylvanas whirled around to glare at her peers, nearly tripping over her branch in the process. “W-what?! But the Headmistress would never–”

“It’s fine,” said Vor’athil with a fluid wave. “I’ll excuse you on account of the special diplomatic role. Anything to get you out of our hair.”

“But what about my studies–”

“Well it’s about time you had some _formal extracurriculars_ to keep you focused.” Vor’athil’s black eyes glinted. “As a Windrunner, you’d be a laughing stock if you weren’t able to take on a little extra work for the good of the kingdom’s diplomacy. And even if you miss some classes, surely your rich heritage would allow you all the smarts in the world to bounce back, am I right?”

“Don’t listen to him,” said Sheldaris, laying a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder. “You don’t have to do this. I’m sure one of the seniors could instead…”

Sylvanas however was listening very keenly to Vor’athil’s words, and they dug deep. She knew how much of a tempestuous second-born she had been to her parents, how her free will and snide disregard for authority had brought a lot of stress and shame to the family name. This was a chance to repair that, a chance to test her will and prove her doubters wrong.

“I’ll do it,” she said after heavy pause.

“Wonderful!” cheered Jaina, jumping up in joy. “I shall make arrangements and await to see you at first light tomorrow. But before I go…” She stepped back, clearing her throat dramatically, relaxing her hands to her sides and wiggling her fingers. “I offer you a gesture of good will. I am a mage in training after all and wish to share my humble magic with you lovely lot. Now, let’s see…”

Her eyes settled upon the branch that Sylvanas still carried. To her eyes, it was a poorly, mangled thing that could be much improved. “Ah,” she said, reaching out with her eager hands. “This will do.”

“Wait,” said Sylvanas, “don’t!—”

But Jaina had already began channeling her mana, her eyes ignited with a blue glow. “Bloom!” she cried. A spark exited her fingers and rocketed through the branch, shooting up Sylvanas’ arms in the process and right up to her head. There was a soft _pop_ as the magic reached her scalp and escaped, rending her smooth hair into a perfectly defined frizz.

There were a few speechless seconds as the students and Jaina watched and waited. The branch began to crackle, then suddenly burst open at the tip, icy branches shooting out in an instant to erupt with blossoms of powder snow.

The class cheered ecstatically, and the students beginning to dance under the tiny little snow stream emanating from their classmate’s branch. Jaina took a bow, directed a hearty wave at Sylvanas, then skipped on after the the Kul’Tiran delegation. Vor’athil almost fell over chortling. Sheldaris crept forward to console her friend, who was staring up at her ruined handiwork in disbelief, hair looking like a frilled lizard’s crown, tears beading in her eyes.

“Oh Syl, you’ll be okay. I’ll make sure to fill you in on everything you’ve missed.” She gave her friend a few gentle pat. “That Jaina seems like one curious cookie, don’t you think? Bet you’ve never taken on a girl like her.”

Sylvanas could only manage a weak, delirious laugh.

“Never,” she sighed. “I hate her already.”


	3. A Trip to the Sanctum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvanas begrudgingly takes on her first assignment as Jaina’s guide, even if it means dashing from Sunstrider to Silvermoon in under an hour, fighting off some leery gate guards, and attracting the attention of a certain Murloc with too many things to say... all the while refusing to admit just how taken she is with her new companion.

It seemed like such an adventurous day. Sylvanas and the girls in her class were racing through the woods on horseback, following a strange old trail that one of them had found. The forest streaked past them in its lush wild colours, and each of them marvelled at the new creatures and plants they encountered the further they rode in.

A cry went out and the girls reined their horses in to a halt. Before them stood the most enormous spider Brood Mother they had ever seen. The girls each took up arms and charged the beast bravely, but it repelled them with its thick chitinous armour and lashing legs.

Hope seemed lost, and only Sylvanas remained. She took one breath of concentration, drew her full quiver of eight arrows and fired them at once—each pierced and severed the legs of the huge arachnid perfectly, and stunned, its confused head and body had no choice but to roll away in defeat.

The classmates all cheered. “You did it Sylvanas! Oh how we love you,” they chanted, crowding around her, tugging and squeezing at her arms and hands. Sylvanas sat heroically atop her mount in her dashing pose, cool and composed as ever, not daunted by all the attention and affection at in the slightest.

Then the scene before her wobbled and shattered rudely, cruelly into reality as a thunderous thumping on her door roused her from her dream.

“Miss Windrunner! Miss Windrunner!” came a booming voice.

Sylvanas opened her eyes to the hazy sunlight filtering through the curtains of her dormitory room, Sheldaris peeking up with concern from the bunk below her, and the two other roommates on the far side groaning and glaring from their beds at being disturbed on their day off. No sweet forest ride or adoring fan-girls in sight. Sylvanas sighed.

She rolled out of her blankets, scrambled down the ladder, reached for her bed robe, and rushed to the door. Opening it a crack, she peeked out into what appeared to be an empty hallway. She blinked, and after a few seconds let out a sleepy “uhhh…” in confusion, before being alerted by the clearing of a throat from below her line of sight.

Sylvanas looked down to see a silver-haired gnome man with a sharp moustache staring expectantly at her. Given his manner of dress—a purple vest with emerald furnishings and jewellery—he seemed to be from the from the Kul’Tiran delegation, though Sylvanas had doubtless missed him through the rest of the much taller crowd.

“Miss Windrunner!” said the again man in a huge voice that belied his size. “I am here to deliver you a missive from Lady Proudmoore reminding you of your meeting with her. She awaits your company within the next hour.” With that, he handed the bewildered Sylvanas a wax-sealed envelope, took a curt bow, and pulled the door shut. His scurrying footsteps rang out and faded quickly from earshot.

 _Within the hour?_ thought Sylvanas, rubbing her eyes. She shuffled back towards her bed as she fiddled with the envelope, breaking the seal and unfolding the letter enclosed within. It took only a few moments of scanning the words from her foreign visitor for humiliation and fury to creep across her face.

“What is it?” asked Sheldaris.

Sylvanas was vibrating with indignation as she crumpled the the letter hurled it away. “She wants me to meet her _at the south gate of Silvermoon?_ In an HOUR? What, does she think I have a dragonhawk at my disposal?!”

“Oh goodness Syl,” cried Sheldaris, jumping up eagerly. “I’ll help you get ready. Go get dressed and I’ll pack your bag for you.”

Sylvanas sighed, her rage lessening just slightly. “You’re a gem, Shel. But… gods! Who does she think she is, leaving a missive, demanding my presence like some servant?”

“Well if she’s the Lord Admiral’s daughter, she’d outrank all of us to the point where you might as well be a servant, to her.” Sheldaris was already busying herself filling her friend’s rucksack. She gave a thoughtful pause, before adding, “Or y’know… maybe she’s really daft enough to think you actually can _run on the wind._ Like some air elemental, or something.”

“Absurd,” muttered Sylvanas, “abhorrent, inconceivable!” But a few gentle pats from her caring classmate coaxed her out of her fit of rage. With more groaning than quite necessary, she began to dress and prepare herself (mentally more than anything else) for her meeting with Jaina.

 

 *     *     *     *     * 

 

It took about 20 minutes before she was off from the academy. Sheldaris saw her out, waving cheerily, and offloading onto her friend an armful of pilfered pastries from the school’s kitchen before she would let her go. Sylvanas set off in a sourly power-walk. It soon became clear however that she would never make it at this pace, given the time it took for her to barely reach the centre of Sunstrider Isle from school. So Sylvanas Windrunner, true to her namesake, ran.

She ran helter-skelter down the main path of the island, rucksack bouncing against her back, her long legs seeming to whip up a dust cloud in her wake. The few townsfolk in the perimeter gave her a wide berth as she rocketed past the the central settlement and Eastern tower, down past the southern hill where she had spent the previous morning with Sheldaris carving her doomed bow, then off over the great stone bridge leading to Silvermoon.

Sylvanas entered the great Elven city in a sweat, her breath short. Her foul mood immediately worsened upon seeing the throng of people out and about in the wide streets of town, each a dawdling obstacle in her path. _Are you kidding me_ , she thought. It was Sunday, of course, so it was market day—all the extra colourful stalls were set up, clothes and tools and jewellery all on display. It was barely eight in the morning, and already there were enough townsfolk bustling about to make one think the High King was giving a speech, all in the name of a sneaky bargain. Sylvanas breathed deep, rubbed her throbbing temple, and charged her way through the happy masses.

After almost half an hour of weaving through crowds, ducking through alleyways and glaring judgmentally at all the carefree shoppers going about their weekend, she arrived before the South Gate. Shielding her eyes against the morning sun, she scanned for signs of her quarry.

Sure enough, there was Jaina in deep conversation with two elven guards stationed at the guardhouse of the entrance to the city. The guards were appeared to be young men four or five years Sylvanas’ senior, and were chortling along to Jaina’s animated storytelling, a twinkle in their eyes as they watched and listened—a little too keenly, and standing a little too close to the human girl for Sylvanas’ liking. Sylvanas immediately forgot how tired and frustrated she was as a lurch of protectiveness welled up in her chest, and she marched up to them to interrupt their jolly conversation.

“Jaina,” said Sylvanas with a drawl.

Jaina turned, her eyes briefly wide with surprise. “Oh, Sylvanas!” she said, breaking into a smile. “I’m glad you could make it! I was beginning to wonder how long you would make me wait.”

“Yes well if you cared a bit more about setting a convenient meeting place—and, I should add, my sanity—then perhaps I wouldn’t need to rush and be tardy and have to leave you in the company of these, uh…” Sylvanas shot a pointed glare at the two guards, who immediately recoiled and stood straight to attention. “These unscrupulous _boys_.”

“Begging your pardon, Miss Windrunner,” replied the closest guard with an apologetic bob of his head, “but we were just keeping Lady Proudmoore here company until you arrived to escort her. We meant no disrespect, and were only sharing in her merry tales at her insistence!”

“Oh spare me the excuses,” shot back Sylvanas. “I’ve been around guards like you enough to tell otherwise. You’ll brutishly move along beggars and nary lift a finger to help the old or sick. But as soon as a young pretty lass out of her depths walks near, you’re wandering from your posts to get all chatty.”

Though the closest guard appeared bewildered, it pleased Sylvanas a little to see his friend behind him shrinking back in shame; clearly she had struck a nerve. “Next time you’re on duty,” she continued icily, “leave your loins at home. And go practice your socialising on women your own age. Come, Jaina!” With that, she turned and marched away from the stunned guards through the gate and onwards out of the city.

Jaina came running along behind her. She seemed to be wearing a bemused smile as she fell into pace next her self-appointed guide. “I have a few questions,” said Jaina.

“Go on.”

“Firstly, were you jealous or something?”

“No,” said Sylvanas. A little too quickly.

“Alright. Secondly, did you really say back there that I was pretty?”

“NO.” Even more quickly. Sylvanas turned away as they walked, hoping the tingling in her cheeks was just imaginary.

“Right, right,” said Jaina, sounding dubious but mostly satisfied. “And finally. Where… exactly are we going?”

“I don’t know,” stammered Sylvanas. “Somewhere quiet where we can hear ourselves. Just, away. Far away from those idiot boys, in case my urge to shoot them through the knee becomes too much.”

Jaina giggled, incredulous. “You don’t even have a bow on you!”

“That’s your fault for destroying my latest. And if I get angry enough, I’m sure I can improvise. Somehow.”

 

 *     *     *     *     * 

 

They walked together for some time, following the southern road away from the city until it forked, at which point they turned west. Sylvanas had slowed her march to a more leisurely stroll that Jaina could readily keep up with, and Jaina in turn drifted left and right with her steps, scanning her surrounds and taking everything in. There wasn’t too much around them except for fields full of wildflowers, the odd bushy sycamore tree with children playing under its shade, or merchants passing by with carts along the road. To Jaina however every simple detail of this new land seemed to hold her interest. At one point she turned and gasped, prompting Sylvanas to wheel about in alarm, only to see her ogling in wonder at the steep spires and turquoise domes of Silvermoon rising high past the city walls behind them, now that they were far enough from the gate.

As Jaina appreciated the view, Sylvanas couldn’t help herself from quietly appreciating Jaina. From their initial encounter at the docks, she had expected the girl to be pompous and arrogant like any high ranking noble child. Indeed, given the tone of her letter, Sylvanas had braced herself to be ordered around, and had spent a portion of her run here preparing sharp-tongued replies in her head. But this Jaina today who was with her in person, out of public view of her Kul’Tiran countrymen and Sylvanas’ academy peers, was a different beast, quiet and courteous, and greeting everything with a genuine round-eyed curiosity and respect.

 _And pretty_ , thought Sylvanas’ brain, before she could mentally slap herself.

But she was, Sylvanas admitted. Jaina’s golden side braid was tied in a plain white bow, her blue eyes were large and luminous, and her face full and soft but with a defined chin. Today she again wore a white sailor-collared shirt with puffed sleeves, only this time the collar and sleeves were trimmed in emerald green. For her bottoms she had long navy pants that lightly flared at the ankle, with silver buttons along the inside pockets of each hip, and broad toed black leather boots.

An elegant boyish look.

Sylvanas couldn’t help but comparing it against her own sorry apparel: loose ivy-green tunic belted at the waist, chestnut-brown slacks and pointy-tipped cloth boots. She felt like an awkward children’s book caricature of what elves were meant to look like. _It’s a weekend, why did you even wear your rangering uniform? You’re not even at school! Oh for shame._

The part she hated most about her own appearance though, was her pointiness. Even for a High Elf, everything about her was exceptionally pointy, and not just her ears: her strong hooked nosed; her jawline, long and angular; her sharp chin, high cheekbones; her shoulders and elbows hewn like axe blades. Add to this that she was very tall, beating out many boys in her year—the only good part of which being that it made all of said boys terribly insecure, so they never asked her out and she never had to waste her breath saying no. Being a towering, pointy pine tree of a girl had given her no favours in turning the eyes of fellow girls in her academy up until now. Why would this one human girl be any different?

“Hey,” said Jaina.

Sylvanas flinched and stumbled out of her musing. She’d gotten so lost in thought that she’d failed to realise she’d slowed to a stop, allowing Jaina to walk up right in front of her unnoticed. Now that they were standing directly before each other, Sylvanas couldn’t help realise that Jaina’s full height barely reached up past her chest. Her delinquent brain immediately wondered what it would be like hugging someone so small.

Sylvanas cleared her throat sheepishly. “Yes?”

Jaina smiled. “So, tell me more about where you’re taking me.”

“Where I’m… taking you?”

“Yes.” Jaina nodded, looking past her reluctant guide. “Is that… West Sanctum? The place where I’ll be lodging and studying?”

Sylvanas turned. Behind her, indeed, past another stone bridge over a clear river, was the West arcane sanctum of Quel’Thalas, a great round tower crowned by structures resembling celestial orbs, nestled in the shadow of maple-shaded hills.

“Yes!” stammered Sylvanas with relief. “The West Sanctum. Totally where I was planning to take you, not like we arrived here through sheer luck at all…”

They crossed the bridge together into the Sanctum grounds. The few priests and sorceresses out and about shot quizzical looks at the two girls, but otherwise left them alone to wander and explore. Sylvanas did her best to explain the importance the sanctums held for High Elf magic users in channeling energies from leylines to fuel their spells, and therefore how they became meccas for the study of magic as well as bastions of magical defence from outside threats. West Sanctum in particular, she noted, was the first arcane sanctum established in Quel’Thalas, founded almost 7000 years ago.

Jaina nodded sagely, responding to this sombre history lesson with questions equally sage:

“What are those funny orbs floating above the tower?”

“Why are there only male priests and female sorceresses, no priestesses or sorcerers?”

“Is there anywhere _fun_ and _wild_ around here? This place reeks of books and bore.”

Sylvanas cradled her forehead at the banality of these queries. “Those are astrolabes, used by our people to divine the power of stars. Because High Elf society is very… uncreative when it comes to gender roles, to put it kindly. And… I guess there’s Tranquil Shore just beyond the hills over west? But that’s full of murlocs–”

“Murlocs?!” Jaina practically screamed with delight. “Why didn’t you say so!”

At Jaina’s insistence, they left the strict solace of the Sanctum behind and trekked west, traversing the gnarled roots of aged maple and sweetgum. On the way, as she danced and hopped through fallen leaves, Jaina attempted to make apologies for her stunt on the previous day.

“This is why I’m being sent to study here, you see,” she sighed. “My mother seems to think I have a lot of magical potential. Not think, she _knows_. My father would rather just have me sail the seas with him and be a naval soldier. As for me—well I do love magic, but all I can manage at the moment is simple tricks. And even they don’t seem to go well. That spell on your branch was meant to make it blossom into spring flowers, but… you saw what happened.”

Sylvanas’ face was a strange mix of irritation and smugness. “So what you’re saying is, had things gone according to plan, you would’ve been perfectly okay with turning my priceless bow into a glorified bouquet, just as a magic trick?”

Jaina gave a pout. “I didn’t know it was your bow of course! I know I should have asked…” She paused. “Or is the issue that you don’t like flowers? Or snow?”

“That is not the issue,” snapped Sylvanas. Naturally, her rogue mind immediately thought about the scenario of receiving flowers from Jaina, and her knees nearly buckled. “The issue is… you broke something of mine, and I fully expect you to repay me.”

“Well then, I am truly sorry,” said Jaina. There was such regret and genuine sadness in her voice that Sylvanas felt like she was being punched in the gut.

“Ugh… never mind. Doubtless I will have time to craft another bow during your stay here in Quel’Thalas.” Sylvanas smirked. “And when I do, I will tie an apple on that pretty head of yours, and shoot it clean in two from a hundred paces away. If you can endure that, I will consider the debt repaid.”

Jaina looked absolutely mortified. “Well, that does sound very cruel, but if that’s what you require due to my blunder, I will endure it.” Both of them trekked in silence up the last stretch of hill for a minute or two, before Jaina asked with a giggle, “Did you just call me pretty again?”

“Absolutely _not_ ,” hissed Sylvanas, her face on fire.

They slid and stumbled down the hill together, picking themselves up at the bottom of the dunes and dusting the sand off their clothes. The beach stretched out before them, its sand very powdery and white, with pockets of grass and spindly trees encircling tide pools. Jaina picked a spot out for them close to one, and they sat down, with Sylvanas opening up her rucksack to pick out some choice sweet pastries for them to munch on.

“Elven treats are so good!” Jaina exclaimed, wolfing down her fruit scroll pastry and beckoning for another. Seeing such happiness radiate from her put a happy buzz in Sylvanas’ chest. She passed her companion another scroll and they both ate happily, watching the waves and the gulls circle over.

It was late morning, perhaps two hours until noon, and with the tide low, murlocs gradually began to appear across the shoreline in the distance. Jaina’s large eyes widened further as she watched them scurry up from the waves in droves, digging into the sand with their spears for clams and crabs. Others swam through water in a coordinated pack, surrounding and driving a lone juvenile dolphin into the shallows. With feral gurgles, they descended upon the hapless cetacean as it beached itself, setting upon it with coral blades.

“Fascinating, yet vicious creatures,” whispered Jaina. “I’m grateful we’re at a safe distance and that the tide is low enough to deter them from coming too far ashore.” She made note of their silvery, transparent hue with shades of gold glistening from their scales. “These are different to the ones I’ve heard of from back home. A different tribe of course? My father has told me of many encounters of his with murlocs, but not like these.”

“Your father,” came a murky voice from behind, “is a murderer. Just as you are destined to be.”

Jaina let out a startled yelp, and wheeled around; Sylvanas turned too, reaching into her rucksack for a weapon of some kind, but finding nothing. They both froze upon seeing a murloc mere paces from them, his eyes a milky glazed white, his amphibious face lined with a beard of wispy fins. He held a trident headed staff loosely with its long, webbed fingers, but made no motion to strike.

“Jaina,” cautioned Sylvanas, “do not readily heed the lies of this foul creature.”

But Jaina had already bought the intruder’s words wholly. “Who are you,” she whispered, “and what do you know of my father?”

The murloc made a clicking sound with his throat, seeming pleased to have an audience with the human girl. “I am Gobbler. An Oracle of the Grimscale Tribe, though I have spent some years among the Bluegills of the Wetlands: a tribe your father took pleasure in hunting for sport.” He paused and spat on the ground before continuing. “I have seen him look upon murloc and orc and women of his own race alike with the same bloodlust and hatred. And I would warn you, child, that the darkness in his heart is something you may inherit, should you not be strong enough to fight it.”

“Your words may be lies or half-truths but they scare me,” said Jaina. She turned to Sylvanas for comfort, her hands shaking. Sylvanas stepped forward, extending an arm and putting her body in between Jaina’s and the murloc’s.

“I’m warning you,” said Sylvanas. “Lay a hand on my charge or slander her good name once more and I’ll beat the stuffing out of you, fish brains.”

Gobbler laughed, a gurgling cackle. “I am only here to deliver this warning. I read and pass on the whispers of the fates, but I do not deliver fate itself.” He raised his hands in a bemused shrug, turning back to Jaina. “I see shadows and blighted ice in your heart, Proudmoore girl. It is not my duty to pluck it from you. But if my brethren wish to take matters into their own hands—” he nodded towards the sea, where several of the murloc hunters seemed to have taken notice of the exchange, and were stalking slowly closer “—then that’s up to them.”

He inhaled as if to say more, but was stopped by a blistering punch thrown by Sylvanas that landed in the dead centre of his face with a sickening _squelch_. Gobbler recoiled, dazed, steadying himself on his staff for a moment, before Sylvanas hit him again with a sweeping roundhouse kick to his temple, toppling him swiftly into the sand, unconscious.

Sylvanas exhaled, adrenaline surging through her. She felt Jaina’s hand upon her shoulder, giving a concerned squeeze.

“Sylvanas, you didn’t have to—he didn’t hurt me.”

“No,” said Sylvanas, “but he got too damned close for comfort, and I _really_ didn’t like the his tone or the look on his face. Come, Jaina, we need to run!”

The elf and the human sprinted from their picnic spot, up the dune hills and over. They didn’t stop until they were well into the trees again, halfway down the maple-covered hillside back towards the Sanctum, at which point they collapsed in a heap.

“Jaina,” breathed Sylvanas, “are you okay?”

Jaina’s breathing was ragged and she was bent over, nursing a stitch, but she raised a wobbly-handed thumbs-up in reply. After a moment, she looked up and cracked a smiled. “That was… quite an adventure, wasn’t it? Maybe we could… do something… not _quite_ so wild and fun tomorrow?”

Sylvanas let out a hoarse laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind. But I think I might just pack a bow and quiver in case, given your penchant for trouble. Or at the very least some hunting knives.”

“Fair call,” admitted Jaina with a grim nod. “I think I’ll go introduce myself to the Ley-Keeper in charge of lodgings at West Sanctum, and rest there while I wait for my belongings to be delivered. I’ll let you head off for the day? Thank you… for your time.”

“Already?” said Sylvanas with a cool smirk. “I was almost beginning to enjoy myself.”

“Oh don’t worry. You’ll be sick of me before too long, the day we actually get to more spend more than a few hours together without completely exhausting ourselves.” Jaina giggled, and gave a sleepy wave.

They walked together a little more before parting ways at before the Sanctum doors. Sylvanas gave a curt bow before turning to leave, trying to keep her emotions level; she didn’t want to let on just how enjoyable she had found Jaina’s company today.

The High Elf had walked some twenty paces away before Jaina’s voice rang out to her, calling her name. She stopped. “Yes, Jaina?”

“Please don’t call me your ‘charge’ next time, I find that term rather cold.”

Sylvanas looked back over her shoulder, ears twitching with curiosity. “What would you prefer then?”

Jaina gave a soft _hmph_ , before beaming and calling out, “How about, ‘friend’?”

Sylvanas blushed, her heart swelling. Against the loneliness of the Ranger Academy with only Sheldaris’ sisterly caring and Vor’athil’s nagging for company, the offer of friendship from this new human companion who appeared out of nowhere the former day was a genuine ray of hope. Even without taking into account her mind’s more ditzy musings about Jaina, it meant more than anything in the world in that moment.

“Alright,” said Sylvanas, a soft smile on her face. “ _Friend_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh... I'm a filthy Hearthstone casual and I wanted to make sentient murlocs a thing. Grimscale Oracle is one of my favourite cards, but while researching about the card art I found conflicting information about whether it was truly a Grimscale, or Gobbler the Bluegill. So I combined them. (He's just here to doomsay in this chapter but he might be back for more exploits later.)
> 
>  
> 
> \-----------------  
> Bonus: Rejected chapter opening sequence that Tres (Slackergami) told me was too cheesy and needed scrapping:  
> \-----------------
> 
> It seemed like such a perfect day. The sun was bright, the sky clear. Sylvanas and the girls from her class were having a picnic in the hills near the academy, and her classmates all congregated around her to hear her wit and charm as she told them of her exploits. They giggled and sighed to every word.
> 
> A cry went out; a wild boar had appeared and was rampaging towards them. Everyone gasped, for no-one had the foresight to bring weapons along to a picnic! Sylvanas rose to her feet, and with a swift swing of her paring knife, she carved two from a branch of the tree shading them in the blink of an eye, stringing it with a strand of hair from her flaxen head. She magicked a an arrow into existence, aimed, and fired—it pierced the boar from head to tail, which exploded into a colourful burst of cotton candy.
> 
> The classmates all cheered. “You did it Sylvanas! Oh how we love you,” they chanted, crowding around her, tugging and squeezing at her arms and hands. Sylvanas stood heroically in her dashing pose, cool and composed as ever, not daunted by all the attention and affection at in the slightest.
> 
> Then the scene before her wobbled and shattered rudely, cruelly into reality as a thunderous thumping on her door roused her from her dream.
> 
> “Miss Windrunner! Miss Windrunner!”
> 
> Sylvanas opened her eyes to the hazy sunlight filtering through the curtains of her dormitory room, Sheldaris peeking up with concern from the bunk below her, and the two other roommates on the far side groaning and glaring from their beds at being disturbed. No sweet picnic or adoring fan-girls in sight. Sylvanas sighed.
> 
> \------
> 
> I also wanted to apologise for how much gay there is in that chapter, but Tres also told me NEVER to apologise for that. ='3


	4. A Silver City, A Silent Grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaina visits Sylvanas at the academy, unexpectedly after almost a week’s absence. They visit Silvermoon together and bond through seeing sites, shopping for clothes, and sharing precious and pained memories of their little brothers.

 

After their outing and misadventure at the beach near West Sanctum, life for Sylvanas seemed to settle back into the same steady lull that before the Kul’Tiran delegation arrived. Classroom work didn’t seem to hold her interest for long, even less so now that she found herself wistfully gazing into space, daydreaming about her new spritely friend. This did have a positive effect on literary class at least, with memories of their day together and thoughts of enjoying more morphing into furiously penned stories in her notebook.

In physical education, her classmates noted that she seemed to lift, leap and dash with even more vigour and energy than they’d seen prior. Rumours began to circulate that she’d come by some bestial brew from the apothecary that had imbued her with super-elven strength. She had always been tall and lean, but surely this athleticism couldn’t have sprung from nowhere, could she really not have been trying all this time? They could not suspect that Sylvanas was setting new deadlift personal bests, breaking school track records, and all around exerting herself with a determined grin on her face, simply because she was now imagining a certain blonde-braided girl beaming and cheering her on from the sidelines.

“What’s gotten into you?” Sheldaris asked her friend one day, when they were out doing fieldwork. Or rather, while Sheldaris was tracking wildlife and taking samples and sketches of the wild fruiting berries like a good student, and Sylvanas was slacking off making yet another bow. Vor’Athil was patrolling and keeping track of the class from ten paces or so away, taking special note of of Sylvanas’ delinquency.

Sylvanas let out a sheepish smirk as she hacked her way into a new blade-smoothened branch, maple this time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You just seem, I don’t know, different. Inspired? Selectively mind you, I certainly still see you being a bludge in maths and not really giving a damn while out here on field assignment. But you have a lot more energy about you.” Sheldaris gave her friend a thorough look over. “You’re even sitting straighter! And your cheeks are almost rosy. Certainly not the Sylvanas Crowscarer that I would’ve mistaken for a corpse just last week. What’s your secret?”

I’m gay, thought Sylvanas simply. “Must be the weather,” she muttered with a decidedly un-straight face.

“If I didn’t know better,” said Vor’Athil, stalking his way over to them, his breath reeking of disapproval, “it’s that Proudmoore girl.”

Sheldaris glared at him. “Yes well that’s bloody obvious, Vor. I was just giving her the space to say it herself without pressure or shame. But I wouldn’t trust you as a boy to understand.”

Vor’Athil let out a wounded gasp. “Misandrist.” He turned to Sylvanas, who was simultaneously blushing and scowling while continuing to try and carve her bow with now very shaky hands. “Look Windrunner, trust me when I say that I am somewhat excited for you to be making a new friend. But as Head of Class it’s my sworn duty to chide you when I see you underperforming. It’s a shame that this new person of interest isn’t motivating you evenly across the board, at times you appear to be quite distracted.”

Sylvanas sighed. “It’s whatever, Vor. I can’t stay on task at the best of times, that isn’t going to change overnight. But I do feel a bit more focused in certain subjects, I guess. I’ll do better in those and no better or worse in others, but I’ll scrape by. Isn’t that enough for you?”

Vor’Athil pursed his lips thoughtfully. “It’s not up to me. It’s Headmistress Fallari and the academy who will be greatly displeased at a Windrunner stooping so low as to be content with just pass grades. I’m simply not going to make excuses for you.”

“I don’t need you to,” snapped Sylvanas. “I just need you to not be such a snitch!”

“Fine, fine,” said Vor’Athil with a shrug. “I won’t say anything to jeopardise your time with sailor girl. I’ll let your grades do the talking.” He wagged a finger, a glint in his eyes. “I’d warn you though to think of what your mother would say. Or your brother, if he were still–”

He whimpered and crumpled to the ground as Sylvanas slammed her bow-branch into his shins, picked up her satchel and crafting kit, and pranced off without a word. Sheldaris down at the boy with a mix of pity and disgust.

“You honestly deserved that.”

“Yeah,” admitted Vor’Athil, hissing in pain. “I did.”

 

* * * * *

 

Dawn broke on Friday. It was almost a week since Sylvanas had last heard from Jaina. The initial frenetic excitement at waiting for another day with her was beginning to give way to a dull anxiety that there would be no more such days.

Sylvanas was lying flat on her back on her bed, listening to the morning birds break into song and Sheldaris’ light snores. In her head, she went through the possible reasons for Jaina’s silence. Had Kul’Tiras been attacked by a giant sea serpent, and Jaina and her countryfolk all been called back to defend? No, she would’ve been a liability and only able to throw snowballs at the thing, they would have left her here for safety. Had she been eaten by a wild boar? Unlikely, she had enough sense to not go wilderness-wandering alone, and if that had happened to the Admiral’s daughter, the academy would’ve been informed immediately.

Had Jaina quietly decided Sylvanas’ company was ultimately boring and not worth her time, and therefore resolved to cut it off without a word? Honestly quite likely.

That possibility terrified her. It gnawed through her stomach like a coiling snake, and sinking into her chest like a heavy hollowness that pinned her down and made her not want to move. Memories slithered against her temples, the faces of numerous people she’d started to befriend but lost to that very fear all blurring past her mind’s eye in a nauseating wave. The fact remained that only Sheldaris and Vor’Athil really talked to her anymore in the Academy, all other half-semblances of friendship had eluded her, and Jaina could easily be going the same way given her silence. It all made her seem, frankly, forgettable.

That murky cloud of thoughts were interrupted by a rhythmic, almost musical patter of knocks against the dormitory door. Sylvanas’ brow furrowed as she tried to recall if they were expecting any announcement or inspection today. Nothing came to mind. The flurry of knocks grew louder, but still quiet enough to not wake the other sleeping girls in the room.

Groaning, she pushed herself up out of her blankets and ruminations, and crawled down the bunk ladder to answer the door. It was a warmer morning than the last time she’d been roused by the very loud booming Kul’Tiran gnome, and she was in a fouler mood, so Sylvanas made no effort to put an extra layer on. Clad only in her purple nightdress, she rubbed her eyes, twisted the doorknob and pulled.

And there was Jaina, standing at the perfect height to be eye-level with and inches away from Sylvanas’ frilly lace-adorned chest.

Sylvanas fell backwards with a muffled shriek, crossing her arms over her chest protectively, her cheeks flushed. “Y-you!” she stammered in a whisper, embarrassment mixed with joy at seeing the Kul’Tiran lass again.

Jaina too was blushing slightly, obviously not expecting to run into her friend in such a state of dress. She wore a loose, flowing white top with gold threaded embroidery adorning the rounded collar, and a lightly layered skirt of azure blue. She would’ve looked quite nice—were it not for the fact that she was covered head-to-knees in flour.

“Yes it’s me,” said Jaina, a tinge of sulkiness in her voice. “Have you forgotten about me?”

Sylvanas’ face quickly cycled through expressions of shock and indignation. “Forgotten?! How could I forget about someone like you! I mean...” She shook her head, flustered. “I thought you’d forgotten about me!”

“Please, Sylvanas,” Jaina hoarsely, wringing her hands. “The first time we hung out properly, I nearly get us killed and you incapacitate a Murloc with your bare hands to save me. That definitely leaves an impression. But then after that, you don’t say anything for days. You could’ve come paid me a visit. You didn’t even write!”

Sylvanas was making choking sounds trying to contain her frustration. “I didn’t write? Why didn’t you?! You had your Gnome friend hand-deliver a missive last time, you clearly have more experience in posting speedy messages than me. You didn’t give me any instructions on how to reach you!”

“Well, honestly I forgot! And my father caught wind of me using his friend as a courier and forbade me from ever putting him through that indignity again, even if Mr Fizzbracket honestly seemed happy to last time.” Jaina sighed. “Plus, I haven’t quite been under house arrest, but once the Ley-Keeper heard of my misadventures and just how unpracticed I am with magic, she’s really been putting me through my paces. I’ve had barely any time free until today to call in.”

Sylvanas considered all this before finally letting out a laugh. “Well, I guess we’re both idiots then huh? It’s... nice to see you again, honestly.”

“You too,” Jaina said, with a smile that made Sylvanas’ heart skip. “I should, ah, let you change into something less intimate before we hang out again huh?”

“Right, right,” said Sylvanas, hugging her torso again self-consciously. “And once I’m dressed, I’ll get you a towel so you can mop yourself up and tell me how exactly you got here looking like you’re roleplaying a dusted cake slice.”

Sylvanas dressed, packed her rucksack, and this time thinking the better of their last beachside encounter, slung a small quiver of a dozen arrows and her latest maple bow over her shoulder; it was still only half carved, but was already strung up properly and of the correct weight and balance to fire in an emergency. As she was turning to leave, she caught Sheldaris stirring from her sleep and calling her groggily.

“Syl dear... is that Jaina outside? Do you want some more... scrolls and pastries to take to share with her again?”

Sylvanas gave her friend a fond pat. “No, it’s okay. Something tells me she won’t be in the mood for bakery goods for awhile. Rest well.”

At last she left the room, towel in hand and passing it as promised to a Jaina in waiting. Jaina took it gratefully, and began dusting herself while taking in Sylvanas’ change of clothing. The young ranger-in-training was wearing a thin, collared shirt in deep navy blue with silver trimmings over a white under-singlet. Her pants were of a flowing cream muslin, three-quarter length, with long black socks and black pointed traveling boots.

“This is a bit of an upgrade in smartness from last time,” remarked Jaina curiously.

“Last time was an oversight,” admitted Sylvanas in her trademark drawl. “You caught me in a rush and I wasn’t really thinking properly, so I defaulted to fieldwork-wear. I always endeavour to be cool and presentable when on a leisurely outing, if given enough time to prepare.”

Jaina grinned. “Well you sure would’ve fooled me if I didn’t stumble upon you in your frilly sleep wear. Given that counter-evidence, I’d say you’re really just a cute dork at heart.”

Sylvanas’ ears reared upright and flushed scarlet. “How dare you,” she growled, unsure whether to be more charmed or insulted at being called those two things together. “What about you then? I didn’t think you had any apparel other than sailor suits based on our first two meetings. You certainly look... different, in a skirt.”

Jaina pouted, still dusting away at the flour slathered over her outfit. “Are you saying it doesn’t suit me? Father’s always given me the impression that I’m too boyish to pull of skirts and dresses. Maybe he’s right.”

“No!” protested Sylvanas. “Different doesn’t mean bad. I was just surprised. It really does suit you well. And your father can go die in a shipwreck if he’s daft enough to think anyone would dare mistaken you for a boy.”

Jaina blinked, startled by how personally Sylvanas seemed to take her comment. She finished slapping the last bits of flour away from her knees, and handed the towel back to the high elf graciously. “Well, thank you honestly. And in a way it’s very fortunate that you think so because I was hoping we could go clothes shopping together, in Silvermoon. Among other things.”

Sylvanas gave a courteous nod. “I’d be delighted to take you. Shall we be off?”

They set off down the hallway, and off out of the school grounds. Jaina began recounting the reason behind her flour soaked appearance that morning.

“I was practising teleportation magic. The Ley-Keeper had gone through the basics with me over several days, and I’d gotten pretty good at increasing my speed and accuracy for short-range blinks of a few hundred paces at most around the vicinity of the Sanctum. I wanted to do a proper field test of a medium-range warp, and rather than request a guide to escort me through Silvermoon just to come to your academy, I figured I could just magick myself here.

“Of course when I actually went to do it, having not been to the academy before, I had... no idea where to hone in to land.” Jaina gave a scowl, seeing that Sylvanas’ ears were twitching, the corners of her mouth creasing up with mirth. “I’d been on the island before that was where we first arrived aboard Father’s ship, but beyond that it was a lot of guesswork. So I managed to guess pretty well I dare say to actually reach the academy, but... rather than arrive suitably at front gate, I landed head-first in an open flour sack at the bakery.”

Sylvanas let out a howl of laughter. “Gods! And nobody was around to help you?”

“None!” Jaina strangled the air in frustration. “Everyone was still asleep, the bakehouse was empty. Just as well that I didn’t get clapped in irons for trespassing or unauthorised magic. But I spent almost a full hour creeping around the castle, leaving a trail of flour dust in my wake, knocking on doors to try to figure out where you were. Only one other person answered!”

“Let me guess,” said Sylvanas. “Vor’Athil?”

“That sourly prefect boy? Yes.” Jaina paused in thought. “He was kind enough to direct me to your dorm, but also seemed greatly displeased with seeing me. Did I do something to offend him?”

“He uh, has a certain dislike for nobility, don’t take it personally. And he also seems to be of the opinion that you’re distracting me from schoolwork. Don’t know what could’ve possibly given him that idea.”

“Oh dear,” said Jaina. “So he doesn’t like you either?”

Sylvanas shrugged. “We have something of a hate-hate friendship. He’s on something of a crusade to make Elvenkind see that nobility is just a crock of nonsense, and to tell you the truth, I sort of agree with him. Just because I’m a Windrunner doesn’t mean I deserve or want a free pass in school—although he’s taken it to the opposite extreme, and made it his mission to prove to the teachers that I’m as useless as they come.” She smiled wearily. “Which is why he was so keen to task me with looking after you, thinking it’d help make me fail.”

“So what’s his deal then?” asked Jaina with a huff. “If I’m proving him right by keeping you busy and away from studies, he should be grateful. No offence.”

“None taken. I think it just rubs him the wrong way that I’m enjoying your company so much, when he foresaw this as a punishment. He can’t gloat about me being a bad student if I’m looking forward to time off school with you more and more.”

Jaina gave a thoughtful murmur of understanding. “Well, thank you for taking me up as your extracurricular burden. And I don’t know if this makes it better, but that enjoyment you feel is very much mutual for my part.”

Sylvanas felt a warm tinge in her cheeks, and turned away slightly to hide her smile.

“Thank you too. And it does.”

 

* * * * *

 

The walk to Silvermoon was of a much gentler pace than the breakneck dash Sylvanas had to take the week prior. The two girls strolled at times in silence, at times in chatter about a manner of things—the wildlife around here that Sylvanas trained to track and hunt, the general vibe of academy life, how Jaina was finding the Sanctum, and the kinds of sights there were to be seen in Silvermoon. Though it took the good part of an hour to reach the North-West gate, the fact that it was in shared company made the time breeze by.

They passed through the gate into town. Sylvanas shot dagger-glares at the guard box just in case—the two men on duty here gave but a friendly nod at her and Jaina as they passed, remaining at their posts. Sylvanas gave a satisfied grunt, wondering if these two were better trained, or if word had spread of the shaming of the other two by her hand at the South Gate.

Jaina immediately went into wide-eyed-wonder mode upon entering the main thoroughfare. “It’s so pretty! Everything is all, tall and pointy.”

“Just like us elves,” remarked Sylvanas. She watched with bemusement and joy as her small human companion rushed from one sidewalk to another, peering up the high windows and signage of the shops and guild buildings that towered above her. “Slow down now, we have all day, don’t trip!–” She reached out a hand just in time to catch Jaina as her skipping toes snagged a protruding cobblestone and she overbalanced. “Shall I take you on a tour?”

Jaina pulled herself up and gave an embarrassed bow. “Alright. Lead the way then, my dashing ranger guide!”

Sylvanas led her through the old north-west quarter, pointing out all the nobles’ dwellings, the travellers’ inns and the courtyard gardens named after the founders of the city. They passed the soaring palace tower of Sunfury Spire and the glittering surrounds of the Court of the Sun, before venturing East into Farstriders’ Square—Silvermoon’s military headquarters, with its gilded pillars and shining statues of watchful war heroes.

“So one day, you’ll be stationed here?” asked Jaina, peering at the blue cloaked ranger corps personnel flanking the many barracks of the square.

“If the academy has its way, yes.” Sylvanas stared grimly at the soldiers, some of them only a few years older than her, fresh graduates from Falthrien. “But with any luck, I’ll be ranked low enough to be allowed to slack off in some quiet village without consequences.”

“No high-flying ambitions for the second-born of the Windrunner clan then?” Jaina shot her friend a sly look.

“None such at all. Could you imagine me being a Captain in charge of my own squad? Or perish the thought, a Ranger-General like my mother once was? Absurd.”

“But I’m sure your mother would love for you to one day be depicted up there?” Jaina gestured at the bronze statues towering over them.

Sylvanas laughed coldly. “Would my mother love for me to go die in a war? Probably.” Seeing Jaina’s horrified face, she gave a reassuring wave of her hand. “Only the bravest rangers fallen in glorious combat get memorialised as the city’s guardians. I couldn’t have assumed you would know that though, nor just how... icy my relationship with my mother is. Let’s keep moving.”

They walked on Southward through the Royal Exchange and its noisy crowds of bankers and auctioneers, and through the Walk of Elders with with its assortment of crafting and magical guilds. Then finally, they turned westward again into the great Bazaar, the city’s great centre of commerce.

Jaina made an immediate beeline for the clothing shops, dragging Sylvanas with her at pace that belied her small stature. She blitzed through the apparel sellers, grabbing an armful of skirts, pants, shirts and blouses at once and trying them on in quick succession, before Sylvanas had even decided on one item to look at. Being a smallish human, Jaina was limited in many of the elven stores to the children’s section, but this did not seem to deter her—there was enough variety and finery styled so differently from back home that she tried on almost everything.

Sylvanas was very cautious with her own picks. She tried on a few choice blazer jackets, vests, and sleek-fitting pants, with the occasional feminine evening wear she would only indulge in in the privacy of her dorm. Most of the time she happily stood back as Jaina modelled for her and asked her for opinions, although in this case, she was a terrible critic because according to her biased view, Jaina made almost everything look good. Jaina, recognising this, began to find clothing that was increasingly outlandish to try on. At last, after emerging in with a straw wide brimmed hat on her head, lime green feather bow boa her neck, pink and blue spotted blouse and yellow puffed landsknecht pants, Sylvanas finally buckled.

“That,” snarled Sylvanas, “looks hideous. How dare you assault my eyes with such camp buffoonery.” Jaina simply chortled and sashayed away to change back into her original wear.

When they were done with the clothing stores (Jaina bagging a total of fifteen items, Sylvanas with a modest four), the two girls made a quick stop by a woodworking market stall in the corner. Sylvanas asked the craftsperson on duty for some advice on her bowmaking, showing her current work in progress, with the trader responding by offering a specific fine-pointed chisel and carving knife to suit her needs. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jaina fawning over a particular two-foot-long spellcasting staff, turning it over in her hands as she admired its rippling wave like pattern and whirlpool-like head.

“I’ll buy that staff too,” said Sylvanas in a heartbeat. Jaina gasped gleefully and fell upon her with a tight hug, the suddenness and warmth of which nearly bowled the high elf over, physically and emotionally both.

After a stopover at a food seller for some fresh meat and salad wraps, they sat together on a ledge near a fountain of the central square, looking up at the Sunfury Spire and its surrounding towers and domes dominating the skyline.

“This has been so great,” said Jaina, nudging her shoulder up against Sylvanas’ arm fondly. “I wish my little brother could have been here to see all the outfits we came across! He always loved playing dress-up with me back at home.”

Sylvanas froze, a tenderness washing over her voice. “You have a younger brother?”

“I do,” said Jaina, her eyes glazing over in thought. “I used to have an elder brother too, Derek. We lost him in battle at sea, when I was very young, so I don’t remember him much. Mother thinks his death may be the cause for Father’s mind-sickness, lost in grief over his firstborn heir. Tandred and I never received the same level love from him as Derek did. Yes, Tandred is his name, my baby brother.

“We grew up playing pirates—sword fighting, firing toy muskets, making each other walk the plank. He loved to dress up in outfits from every class and culture of Azeroth he could come across. And he especially encouraged me to feel good in whatever I was wearing, and to wear what I felt good in.

“After Father repeatedly dressed me in boys’ naval outfits when on deck with him at sea, so as not to be a ‘distraction’ to his men, I started to feel embarrassed to wear dresses and skirts. It didn’t help that Father always teased me about looking awkward in them, or having their beauty wasted on someone so plain and boyish. So Tandred joined in wearing them to give me confidence—we would both don ball gowns or country dresses and run about the house, still slinging muskets and play swords, fighting with a feminine fury. I felt so freed by it.”

Jaina turned back to her friend, coming back to the present. Sylvanas was sitting on the edge of her seat, not even eating anymore, enchanted and haunted by something about Jaina’s words. Seeing this, Jaina laid a hand on Sylvanas’ and gave it a light squeeze. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Sylvanas slowly. “I just... connected with that experience a lot. I too have memories with younger brother who greatly helped me in learning to accept myself.” She shook her head slightly to steady her wandering mind. “Tell me. Tandred, he is alive and well?”

Jaina gave a sad smile in reply. “Alive yes. But well, not so much. He is quite sickly and in recent years, he has become too frail to travel or leave the house for more than an hour. So Mother looks after him at home.” She looked upon Sylvanas with some hesitation, feeling like she could guess the answer to the question she was about to pose. “What about yours?”

“His name was Lirath. I knew him very well. He was taken from this world all too soon. We can visit his resting place, here in this city, if you’d like. I have been meaning to for over a year now, but I never could bring myself to alone.”

Jaina gave a somber nod, and leaned in to hug her friend gently from the side.

“Mm. Let’s.”

 

* * * * *

 

Silvermoon Cemetery lay in the heart of the city, a long rectangular clearing running North to South, raised above the street level and bordered by thick pine trees above hewn stone.

Sylvanas swung the gate back beckoned Jaina through, and they walked together in silence down the path running towards the nobles’ mausoleums at the centre. There were no other people within the cemetery walls, their only company was the smallest rustle of rats running past the pine trunks, and the soft caws of crows perched on the gravestones.

Windrunner Mausoleum was a sizable stone crypt. It wasn’t the largest especially compared to those of the Royal Family, but still a grand memorial building with a domed roof, a ring of Ionic columns supporting it, and gravesites arranged in a concentric circles within. Leaving their shopping bags and weapons at the entrance, Jaina followed Sylvanas’ lead, reading the names of her friends’ mysterious forebears as she passed them, wondering about the kinds of lives they had led, the wars they had fought in.

Lirath’s grave was at one of the middle rings; it was small and relatively unadorned compared to the larger carved-relief capstones of his relatives. Under the gold-engraved letters spelling out his name was an etching of a lute, and beneath that, a simple eulogy:

Little Sun of the Windrunner Clan. Blessed musician. Beloved son of Lireesa, youngest brother of Alleria and Vereesa. Sing on, in the light of the heavens.

Sylvanas knelt before the grave, murmuring a soft prayer. Jaina, however, was shaking, retracing the words on the gravestone with her mind, a quiet fury washing over her.

“Why. Why is your name not mentioned?”

Sylvanas shook her head, her eyes averted. “I asked for it to be omitted, out of respect to my family, and Lirath too. For a long time they blamed me for his death, and were right to do so. My sisters have softened their views in the years since the incident. But not Mother.”

“How could they though,” said Jaina, her eyes glistening. “You tried to protect him.”

“And I failed.” Sylvanas turned to look at her friend, her eyes hollow, her lips stiff. “My family would wish to not have my brother’s memory defiled with the name of his killer. And Lirath would want my family to be happy. As much as I want him back, I understand and respect that.”

“Lirath would want you to be recognised as his sister,” said Jaina firmly. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she approached Lirath’s grave, knelt and placed her hands upon its stone tableau. “If you won’t believe me, then you should ask him. If you want him back, then I... I can try...”

“Jaina, no,” said Sylvanas, horrified. But Jaina was already channeling her magic, her eyes ablaze with a familiar blue light. Her fingers arched up like a pianist’s as she concentrated, an ethereal wind whipping against her shirt, dress, and hair. She pressed her palms flat and a crackling shockwave erupted from her, exploding outwards to the edges of the crypt and into the cemetery beyond, singing some gravestones and cracking others, scattering the ravens to flight.

Sylvanas was knocked off her feet from the blast. Scrambling up again, she saw Jaina still braced against the grave, weeping heavily through her azure eye shine, ghostly chains of frost creeping from her fingers and down into the earth where Lirath’s body lay. But there was no reply. No glimmer of life beneath the gravestone to suggest that Jaina’s magic was working. Only a dark wind whirling around the young mage, its strength picking up enough to let out a low howl at first, and then mutterings of a word, a warning.

Beware, beware, spoke the wind. And the other graves in the Windrunner Mausoleum seemed to creak in reply, smoky shapes appearing to rise above them and loom—figures of Windrunners past, indistinct but familiar, their faces blurry except for gleaming white eyes, wide in horror, all of them chanting in harmony.

Beware, beware, they sang. But Lirath’s grave still remained silent.

Jaina, aware of the spectres her spell was conjuring, recoiled from their visages but stayed put, the magic beginning to take its toll on her, veins bulging at her temple and in her arms, her mouth beginning to twist in pain. Sylvanas couldn’t take it anymore. She charged at her friend through the dark maelstrom, tackling her full force at the waist and pulling her onto the floor, turning so that her body hit the ground first and cushioned Jaina’s fall.

There was a rustling hiss as the spell broke. The wind dissipated, billowing out out like a faint black mist onto the necropolis around them. The spectres above the Windrunner graves grew tall, their song crescendoing into one last howling cadence before evaporating into the still midday air. The icy chains creeping into the grave melted into a clear dew. And Jaina’s eyes faded back to their usual hue, her breathing slowing, as she came to her senses.

The high elf girl held the human for a long moment, letting the little mage calm down and regain her strength enough to speak again. Finally, Jaina let out a wail of regret, burying her face in her hands.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice shaking.

Sylvanas only continued to hold her tight, her forehead pressed against her friend’s nape. “It’s okay, Jaina. It’s okay”

“I just... I couldn’t bear to think about feeling that way about my own Tandred. To hear you had to go through that broke my heart. I wanted to prove to you otherwise...”

“As much as I want him back,” whispered Sylvanas, “I couldn’t ask for him back as a shade, a trickery of the mind, an empty apparition to stoke my vanity. That isn’t what I want Jaina. He’s gone and I should accept that, with all the scars left in my family that come from it.”

Jaina shook her head, a harsh edge to voice. “One day I will become strong enough to raise him. I may be no Paladin of the holy orders, but I will find a way within my powers to do it. I swear it. I would do that for you.”

Sylvanas gripped her friend’s shoulders desperately. “Don’t promise something you can’t keep. I shouldn’t have brought you here only to fill you with my pain.” She rolled out from underneath Jaina, pushed herself up and rose to her feet, offering the human friend a hand up. “Let’s return to the academy. You need to rest after that ordeal.”

Jaina took Sylvanas’ hand, gingerly standing up. Her face had a dark look about it, as if she wasn’t convinced, could not be convinced to quite give up that ambition. But she nodded sagely. Silently, they collected their belongings and exited the mausoleum, hand in hand walking back towards the city streets, hoping to leave the memories of the day’s grim encounter far behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the length creep for those expecting a shorter chapter! I had a lot of feels and history that kind of came out while writing this and felt like I had to include it all. 
> 
> I will have a future chapter dedicated to uncovering more about Lirath and Sylvanas’ role in his death, not to worry. But I’ll definitely break it up with some lighter fare first.
> 
> As an interesting aside, I always found it peculiar that both Liches and Archmages in Warcraft (III) use frost magic, so I wanted to explore Jaina’s affinity to that and thus the lure of the coldness of death, and how that might affect her future path.


	5. Dance With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvanas and Jaina return to Falthrien Academy to securing lodgings for the young mage, both for her recovery and her ongoing proximity to Sylvanas. Sylvanas soon has another problem on her horizon - her ailing grades, and a never-before-considered chance to take a girl along to the Midsummer Ball. But she has much to prepare first...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter had to be split, initially I was going to have the Ball in this chapter as well but the preparatory segments just grew way too big. The next Fete and Ball chapter will be on its way shortly...
> 
> There’s a lot of semi-serious, semi-jestful queer discourse in this chapter, and a lot of dialogue all-round. Be warned!

 

They returned to the academy almost in silence. Jaina barely made it out of the cemetery grounds before her legs started to wobble and Sylvanas had to support her. Sensing an otherwise arduous trip you foot, and not wishing to embarrass Jaina by carrying her, Sylvanas hailed a coach as soon as they reached the main road of Silvermoon. They bundled up together in the Hawkstrider-drawn carriage, Jaina nestling wearily into the nook of Sylvanas’ shoulder and chest, a spare blazer Sylvanas had bought drawn over her like a blanket. Normally Sylvanas would have been self-conscious at how close Jaina was against her, but she was too wracked with concern and guilt, sitting stiffly and only grimly watching the road ahead as they the carriage trundled towards Falthrien.

Upon arriving at the school, Sylvanas took Jaina with her to the Headmistress’ office, stopping by Vor’Athil’s dormitory to conscript him to their aid too. Together, they pleaded to Fallari to give lodgings to Jaina on school grounds to aid her recovery, though naturally Sylvanas skirted around the details of just what the little mage had tried to do earlier. Jaina admitted it would benefit her meeting with Sylvanas more regularly by staying here, rather than requiring an escort through Silvermoon multiple times a week, or risking one of her teleportation mishaps. And Vor’Athil opined on how good it would be for Jaina’s experience of the Quel’dorei curriculum to sit in with the ranger students for some part of week.

Headmistress Fallari eventually relented, granting Jaina one of the spare chambers in the teacher’s quarter—a moderately spacious room the size of Sylvanas’ four-person dorm. Situated on the third and topmost floor of the school building, it had tall windows, and a balcony that overlooked the wide courtyard gardens in the middle of the dormitory area.

Jaina took one look at the plush queen bed at the centre of the room and wobbled her way towards it, collapsing onto the mattress and bouncing about with carefree abandon. She rolled herself up into a cocoon in the cool blankets, almost instantly falling asleep.

Sylvanas rolled her eyes but nodded with understanding, realising just how much Jaina had been through. Quietly, she moved the rest of Jaina’s clothes purchased earlier that afternoon into the wardrobe hangers, and placed an order with the kitchen staff for dinner to be delivered to her room in the evening. She adjusted the sheets to be less of a tangled mess over Jaina’s snoozing for before clasping and squeezing her hand gently, leaving her to rest.

The human girl kept to herself for the remainder of the night and next morning, which came as no shock to Sylvanas. The ranger-in-training did her best to settle back into her school routine in her friend’s absence. She was surprised, however, to then see Jaina appear by her table in the dining hall during lunch break, a little more subdued than normal but otherwise alert and well.

“How’s class been?” asked Jaina, sitting down beside Sylvanas with a peppy wave. “And thank you, by the way, for putting me up here.”

Sylvanas shrugged coolly, a whisper of a smile on her face. “It’s the least I could do after yesterday. Class is a bit of a cruel change to taking you on impromptu adventures, it doesn’t really compare. But I’m getting by.” She prodded the half-finished venison stew in the bowl in front of her with her spoon idly. “Are you really doing okay after yesterday? Do you want some of my lunch to help with your strength?”

Jaina shook her head. “I’ve had a generous late breakfast delivered straight from the head cook. I’ll be dining with you and the other students from tonight, not to worry.” She drummed the table happily, blissfully unaware of the other High Elf students across the room giving her odd judging glances, for being so cheerful in Sylvanas’ company. “I’m feeling... mostly like my old self? I feel a little singed and tender in my magic channels and my mana is still replenishing, but physically I think I have a lot of strength still.”

Sylvanas let out a relieved sigh. “You’ll make one heck of a mage with that kind of constitution. I’d not be in any rush to strain it any further anytime soon though, so, why don’t you keep the magicking to a minimum while staying here?”

“No magic for three days?!” Jaina gave a mock whine, before bobbing her head in agreement. “But of course! I’m here to recover and to learn the ways of the illustrious Elven Rangers after all. I’ll be a good exchange student, don’t you worry. I’ll sit back, observe, and only annoy you after teaching hours.”

“You’re not even going to try to drag me out of class for the next while to go sightseeing?” asked Sylvanas, dubious. “Colour me surprised. And maybe a little disappointed.”

Jaina laughed. “I know my limits. I’m fine recovering and learning what I can while here. The wider wilds of Quel’Thalas can wait another week or more.” She gestured at the bowl of stew in front of Sylvanas, which hadn’t been touched since she joined the table. “Aren’t you going to finish that so we can prepare for next class?”

Sylvanas shook her head. “My appetite kind of vanishes when I’m anxious. Which I was, earlier.”

“Anxious?” asked Jaina. There was a brief pause before she broke into the smuggest grin. “You were anxious about me?”

Sylvanas turned away, scowling as a faint redness swelled in her cheeks and ears. “Maybe. Yes.”

“I’m flattered Sylvanas but I’m made of tough stuff, and I’m certainly not worth missing meals over.”

“I can’t control how my body reacts!”Sylvanas buried her face in her hands, exasperated. “And maybe I didn’t sleep properly last night either, wondering if you’d be okay.”

Jaina let out a full guffaw. “You really are a cute, caring dork.” She inched her face a little closer across the table to Sylvanas’, cocking an eyebrow, her eyes flashing playfully. “I’m starting to wonder just what else you can’t control about your body in relation to me.”

Sylvanas felt her soul almost leave her. Wordlessly she turned, grabbing her book bag from under the table and walking briskly away in autopilot, her ears vibrating, raised high and flushed crimson. She was out the cafeteria door with her long strides before Jaina could even blink, leaving the human girl to sheepishly ponder whether she’d offended the flighty elf.

 

* * * * *

 

Jaina kept her word about playing the good student. Throughout the first class of the afternoon in Elven History, she sat at the desk next to Sylvanas, eyes on the teacher on the front the whole time, her brow furrowed in concentration. When Sylvanas handed her a spare exercise book and quill, she accepted eagerly and began note-taking at a pace that astounded her Elven friend, even going as far to draw diagrams and cartoon annotations—on a topic as dry as Dath’Remar Sunstrider’s childhood, of all things.

This enthusiasm continued over into Herbalism, their second class, in which they were examining the growth of Bloodthistle when exposed to magical currents. Jaina seemed utterly fascinated by how much more robust the plants’ leaves and stalks were, and how red and full its blooms were in the presence of concentrated magic. Sylvanas had to caution her against taking some away from class to imbue with her own magic, taking the risk of Jaina engulfing the school in a giant thistle thicket quite seriously.

After classes, Sylvanas took Jaina on a tour of the school grounds. They passed through the musty school library, in the circular South-East tower with its rings of towering bookshelves and central spiral staircase to reach each floating level. They peeked at the indoor gymnasium, the academy’s home for court-based ball sports and unarmed sparring practice both, where seeing the wrestling club warm up and practice take-downs made Jaina’s eyes light up. They walked past the outdoor field and archery range, where Sylvanas’ favourite sports and shooting classes took place; Jaina had to physically restrain her Elven friend from wanting to run out and prove her physical prowess to her, much to Sylvanas’ chagrin. Finally, they strolled back into the central courtyard and gardens which Jaina’s bedroom balcony looked out onto.

The courtyard became the girls’ after-class haunt that afternoon, and for the rest of the two days of Jaina’s first half-week at the academy. Once they the bell tolled for the last class of the day, whether or not they did further exploring in and around school first, they would always end up resting and chatting together in the colourful gardens until dinner. It had a pleasant, secluded air from the bustle of the rest of the students’ antics, appealing neither to the sporty nor bookish types, who had the field and gym or library to themselves respectively; only daydreamy writers and plein-air artists, hopeless romantics looking for somewhere quiet to nestle, and Herbalists doing out-of-class study lingered here.

On the afternoon of the third day and last of Jaina’s stay, the two friends found themselves seated at a sunny garden ledge in front of some fruiting bushes, from which Jaina was picking and sampling berries from idly. Unlike on previous days, they were were soon joined in company, first by a cheery Sheldaris bringing them a picnic basket of scones and fruitcake, as well as a flask of hot cinnamon tea; and second by a grouchy Vor’Athil, fresh out of a gruelling student council meeting.

“The merry band is all here!” cried Jaina with delight, welcoming both of them in turn and scooting aside for them to join.

“Please don’t call me merry,” asked Vor’Athil with a passing grimace, but nonetheless seating himself next to Jaina and the others, accepting a cup of tea from Sheldaris gracefully. “So just how is our new ace student finding Academy life?”

“Don’t you encourage her,” sighed Sylvanas. “It’s super weird having someone who’s not even enrolled being so enthusiastic about learning. What have we done, Vor?”

“Unleashed a monster of academic excellence, you have,” piped up Sheldaris as she set about serving everyone little slices of cake.

Sylvanas groaned. “For such a nerd, Jaina, I’m surprised you have the audacity to hang around with me. Aren’t you afraid my slacking ways will rub off on you?”

“Please, Sylvanas. More likely my interest in learning will slowly start to soak in and chip away at your bad habits.” Jaina gave a daring smile, her lips dyed a messy purple by the berries she’d been munching. “I swear Sheldaris said something about you already being inspired to study harder before our last outing, simply by thinking of me?”

“She lies,” hissed Sylvanas, but her face gave away the true story.

“If I may, Sylvanas,” said Vor’Athil, “you’d do well to channel some of that determined spirit from last week a little more, across all your subjects. If your grades suffer now that Jaina is here, it wouldn’t be a good look on the Headmistress’ generosity.”

“And don’t forget, midterm exams are coming up!” warned Sheldaris. “We’re barely two weeks away from them, you better step up your game.”

Sylvanas’ shoulders slumped a little as she heaved a sigh. “There’s only so much I can switch gears for now. I think I need something on the other side to motivate me. Otherwise it just seems like one big headache for nothing.”

“What about my pride in you being such a good bean of a student?” asked Jaina.

“Tempting but... not enough,” admitted Sylvanas, causing the human girl to huff and punch her shoulder.

Sheldaris shot Sylvanas a funny look. “Are you intentionally forgetting about the Midsummer Carnival?”

Sylvanas’ eyes widened with excitement initially. “Oh!” she said, before a further realisation made her grimace, as if in pain. “Oh...”

Jaina inched in closer, her curiosity piqued. “Wait, what’s this?”

Vor’Athil cleared his throat. “The Midsummer Carnival is the school’s main celebratory event for second term. It’s actually comprised of two components, the Midsummer Fete, and the Midsummer Ball. The Fete takes place during school hours on a Saturday, and is an outdoor event held out on the sporting field—lots of craft and clothing stalls, carnival games, music and contests. There’s generally pedigree Dragonhawks and Hawkstriders in attendance too, brought in by their tamers and breeders for show judging as well as supervised rides. Then there’s the weapons-smithing competitions, as well as weapons-sparring. It’s quite the show.

“The Ball part of the Carnival takes place at night, on the following day. It’s a ball in the traditional sense - gowns and suits, paired dance partners, a big multi-course dinner, live chamber orchestra for music. Dances are a combination of traditional standards and vetted student requests that the teachers largely have no control over, which is always fun. And all styles are accepted, not just ballroom ones, although I do have a soft spot for the courtly elegance of those, and the event certainly privileges them. It’s also not uncommon for stately guests from Silvermoon to attend, so occasionally the event is in very noble company, but it never stops being pompously dressed up fun for the students.”

Jaina’s eyes were sparkling, listening to the explanation. “This all sounds so wonderful!” She turned to Sylvanas. “You should be overjoyed to have that to look forward to.”

“Oh she is,” said Sheldaris. “But for half of it only.”

“Half?” asked Jaina.

“I have some bad memories,” admitted Sylvanas, “from my first Ball last year, where I was persuaded to take a certain pompous Princeling as my dance partner. The whole ordeal was embarrassing, and firmly convinced the last doubtful part of me that I was done trying to force romantic affection with boys.” She folded her arms defensively. “What’s awful is that I love the Fete to bits, especially the competitive events there. But having it culminate in the Ball just leaves a sour taste in my mouth. You don’t have to take a date or dance, but being there watching the other students do it, you feel a bit left out. There’s just no way I’m trying to dine and dance with a boy ever again though.”

“You know what the obvious solution to that is, right?” chided Vor’Athil. “Feign sick, don’t attend, and feel even more left out. Or, take a girl as your ball partner.”

“Vor!” snapped Sheldaris. “Don’t tease the poor girl. No-one’s brought along a ball partner of the same gender for over half a century, it’s going to take a lot of guts to break that drought in front of the entire school. Besides, where is she going to find a girl willing to attend the ball with her in school? Pretty much the entire cohort besides us is either indifferent to her, or outright resentful.” She turned to Sylvanas, who seemed to be positively melting into her seat. “Uh, no offence Syl.”

“None taken,” said Sylvanas icily.

The three Elven friends fell into an uneasy silence, Sylvanas stewing in her sudden explosion of self-loathing, Sheldaris swirling her teacup with frustration, and Vor’Athil fiddling with his student council reports to distract himself from the minefield he’d just dug up. Jaina looked between each of them quite incredulously, munching away until she’d finished the last of the picked berries in her hand. Finally, she cleared her throat and rose to her feet dramatically.

“I’d be your date for the ball, Sylvanas,” she said simply.

The elves all turned to her. Sheldaris broke into a delighted grin. Vor’Athil nodded with grave admiration. Sylvanas, upon processing what Jaina had just said, immediately lurched backward head-first into the bush behind them, letting out a drawn-out nervous squeal.

Jaina immediately rushed to her aid, pulling her out of the shrubbery and brushing the stray twigs and leaves off her with concern. Sylvanas, in the state that she was after Jaina’s offer however, found the human girl’s touch even more flustering, and her face reddened considerably.

“A-are you serious?” stammered Sylvanas. “You’d do that just for me?”

“Not just for you,” said Jaina, wagging her finger. “I’d kill for the opportunity to go to a courtly Elven dance event while here. Especially with another girl. Especially with you.”

Sylvanas doubled over, breathless with disbelief. She shook herself violently, struggling to regain her cool composure, with little success. “I’m... flattered, Jaina...” She coughed a little, turning to Vor’Athil tentatively. “Is it really possible?”

The Head of Year gave a shrug, scratching his chin as he pondered. “I don’t think the academy has outright rules barring same-sex couples from the Ball. It’s just not really done because of tradition and the cultural fear of breaking that. The ball instructions merely assume a girl and boy pair, they’re but formalities, and I don’t think it’s an expellable offence to breach them. Especially if you’re covert about it.” He gave a nod towards Jaina. “And there’s certainly nothing wrong with taking a non-student as a date. You just have to put in an application to Fallari in person, but you don’t have to give away too much about who you’re bringing.”

“Right, right,” said Sylvanas. “But even so... we have about three weeks until the ball and I really don’t know how to dance. It’s going to be awful.”

Jaina laid a hand on Sylvanas’ shoulder. “Leave that to me. I’m going to change that for you this year if it’s the last thing I do. You just promise me this.” She looked her straight in the eyes, her entire being brimming with determination. “You work on getting your butt through the mid-term exams okay? And I’ll work on finding a way to get you all Ball-ready. You’ve got four days a week with me not around, don’t waste them. Can you do that for me?”

It took Sylvanas a little while to break out of her stunned silence, but soon she began to nod, slowly at first, and then rapidly. “Absolutely,” she said, a renewed zeal in her voice.

“Great!” replied Jaina, tackling Sylvanas hard and fast with a swift hug, before pulling herself up again. “I’d best go pack my things and ready for the trip back; Fallari has booked me a coach ride back to West Sanctum at first light tomorrow. I’ll let you get a head start tonight without me.”

The young mage walked her way towards the entrance of the courtyard, turning around as she reached the archway into the cloisters of the academy dorm. “Looking forward to seeing you again, my studious guide. And you two!” She pointed at Vor’Athil and Sheldaris rather fiercely. “I’m counting on you to keep her in check!”

With that, Jaina was gone, leaving a hapless Sylvanas and her two classmates to absorb the enormity of the commitment the truant ranger had gotten herself into.

 

* * * * *

 

In the four days of Jaina’s absence, Sylvanas studied more she’d ever done in her life. Under Sheldaris’ soft encouragement and Vor’Athil’s stern chiding, all of the classes she’d previously neglected saw rapid changes: she started memorising Maths formulas, reading up on History and Herbology texts, using the library telescopes, and moreover actually paying attention in class. In her favourite subjects she continued to perform, continuing with her adventurous tales in Writing class, pushing herself further in strength and sporting benchmarks, honing weapons with her usual attention to detail, and shockingly, actually staying on task in her Rangering field assignments.

By the time Jaina arrived back in the academy, Sylvanas was not necessarily a changed student, but certainly was defying every instinct she had to mess around. In fact, Jaina found her nose-deep in a textbook during lunchtime in the cafeteria, on an off-day when all the other students had had knocked off from studying.

“Who are you and what did you do with Sylvanas?” Jaina asked, walking up from behind and leaning in over the High Elf’s shoulder. “I never expected you to take to my request so avidly.”

“Welcome back,” replied Sylvanas, barely looking up. “And what, are you saying my word is no good to you? I’m hurt, Jaina.”

Jaina seemed almost embarrassed. “No! I’m just impressed, truly... Listen.” She tugged her fingers lightly under Sylvanas’ strong chin; Sylvanas blushed in spite of herself as she turned her gaze in response. “I’ll be in my room for the rest of the afternoon. Come by anytime after 20 minutes are up, that’ll give me enough time to prepare.”

“Prepare? For what...”

“For your dance lessons, silly!” Jaina gave a sly wink as she waved and made for the cafeteria doors. “Unless you had something else in mind?”

The twenty minutes dripped by like an eternity. Jaina’s return had already jostled Sylvanas out of study mode, and her teasing certainly didn’t help her concentration. She found herself blankly re-reading the same two paragraphs for five minutes before giving up, deciding to go for a brisk walk around the school. Finally, after killing enough time, she ascended the steps to the teacher’s quarters to knock on Jaina’s door.

Jaina answered and ushered her friend in. Sylvanas scanned the room, taking note of the slightly altered layout of the room: the bed had been turned and pushed all the way back to the far wall. The other movable furniture in the room too—the lounge chairs, coffee table, patterned rug, and small chest of drawers—all shoved to side next to the bed. The large stretch of room close to the entrance was left only as bare varnished timber: the perfect dance floor.

“Ready?” asked Jaina, closing the door behind her. “Let’s begin.”

What Jaina lacked in dance expertise, she made up for in spirit. The little mage dove into the instructor role whole-heartedly, giving a brief overview of the dance style of focus, doing a little giggly demonstration, before guiding Sylvanas through the motions—correcting her posture and limb positions here and there with gentle coaxing from her hands. The dances Jaina chose first were an assortment of regional folk styles: the Gnommish Polka, with its brisk hopping steps and partner spinning; Kul’Tiran step dancing, with its percussive foot taps and nimble strides, in both couple and line formation; and the Strathspey and Half Tulloch of the Ironforge Dwarves, which had both leaping and twirling with arms held high and legs outstretched, until they were quite dizzy.

Sylvanas was an awkward but determined learner. Every misstep or trip, fumbled movement or misplaced hand elicited from her a scowl, but also a flurry of ferocious retakes until she had acquired some mastery over the mistake. And Jaina pushed her onwards with smatterings of praises mixed with dares. “Is that your best?” she roared. “Come at me again, with emotion!” By mid afternoon Sylvanas had worked quite up a sweat but had almost got the core of the three dances down, to Jaina’s delight.

They moved on to a smattering of casual styles that Jaina figured academy students ought to be well versed in—none of them had proper names, so Jaina improvised with her own. She dubbed them the “noncommittal head bob”, “sad shoulder lean”, “shy girl’s two-step”, and the “raving woman shuffle”, all of which looked exactly what they sounded like. Sylvanas was in hysterics, not only for Jaina’s apt naming but also for how simple and pragmatic each of them were for the shy teen. They were versatile; they were unassuming, and fun. Jaina put on a dozen different tracks on the gramophone for them to experiment with, and they found that they could improvise to just about all of them with just those four moves.

Soon the skyline began to simmer into a golden orange through the window, signalling sunset’s approach, and dinnertime soon thereafter. Jaina was retying her hair, her neat braid having become quite muddled with loose hairs and messy plaits during their lengthy practice session. As the two of them went about rearranging the room back to its original state, Sylvanas decided to voice her niggling thought.

“Jaina?”

“Yes, Sylvanas?”

The High Elf twiddled her thumbs, not wanting to sound unappreciative. “Those dances were all so fun and wonderful. But... none of them were courtly ball dances of Quel’dorei fare.”

“So you noticed,” said Jaina with a sage nod. “I’m not a High Elf, I’m not really familiar with them. But I could ask Ley-Keeper Velania and the other students at the Sanctum, if I knew exactly what styles you were interested in.”

“I just have one,” said Sylvanas. “And it’s an old style popular enough that maybe even Kul’Tirans have some experience in it.”

Jaina’s blue eyes widened. “What is it?”

“The Waltz.”

“The waltz... of course!” Jaina beamed suddenly in recognition. “Mother once taught me that one. I haven’t practiced it for an age but I still remember the basics, and could brush up on it easy. It’s all in the one-two-three, one-two-three, two steps outwards and then the third to bring them together...”

“Alright.” Sylvanas bowed graciously. “I’ll take my leave for now but, do you mind if we work on that more on our next practice session?”

“Not at all.” Jaina eyed her friend curiously. “Did you have a song in mind to dance it to?”

Sylvanas smiled, ivory fangs twinkling as she slipped out the door. “I do. But if I told you, it’d ruin the surprise.”

 

* * * * *

 

“Okay Syl,” sighed Sheldaris, rubbing her temple. “Run me through this again. What exactly is the deal with you not being able to pick an outfit?”

They were sitting together in the quiet of their dorm, a little after breakfast before class started. Sylvanas had emptied her wardrobe of clothing options and had them laid out across her and Sheldaris’ bunks, some spreading onto the floor. There were mostly an assortment of red, black, and purple suit jackets and blazers, with paired trousers and collared shirts and blouses, but there were a couple of long, flowing dresses that caught Sheldaris’ eye, that she didn’t believe she had ever seen Sylvanas wear publicly before.

“It’s a big deal,” said Sylvanas, holding her head in frustration. “It is, because we’re the first girl pair to attend the ball together in fifty years. We’re making a statement. We have to get this right.”

“Yes but you also have to think about your own comfort and enjoyment, first and foremost.” Sheldaris laid a comforting hand on her friend’s own. “Have you at least decided what type of each outfit you’re going with?”

Sylvanas almost sobbed. “That’s the hardest part! There’s no precedent for this. A straight-paired couple, oh it’s easy—boy wears suit, girl wears gown; simple, unimaginative, traditional. Once you throw gender out the window, you’ve got a mess. We could go with suit and suit? Gown and gown? Even with the standard suit and gown, we’d still have to decide who wears what.”

“Calm down,” said Sheldaris. “Breathe. Let’s go through them one by one. Suit and suit?”

“Jaina doesn’t really like wearing suits, she’s been trying to get used to skirts and dresses again, and this would be her moment to really own it in one. It also paints a really obvious target on us being a same-sex couple.”

“Right. Gown and gown?”

“I’d die of embarrassment in a dress in public. And the ones I have are really unflattering, or I just look hideous in dresses... I’m still figuring that out. Less of an issue of putting a target on us if we just blend in with the other girls in attendance, but once we join up it’ll still be obvious.”

Sheldaris scratched her head, considering this. “You’d still have a couple of weeks to find a nice dress that actually compliments you if you decide so. But I’ll let it slide.” She clicked her fingers. “What about the obvious choice then? You go suit, Jaina goes gown?”

Sylvanas sighed heavily. “Two issues with that. One, I’m the taller one, and Jaina is way shorter. Don’t you think giving me the suit and her the gown just perpetuates and reinforces a heteronormative power dynamic?”

Sheldaris stared at her for a good few seconds, dumbfounded. “You’ve been talking to Vor’Athil too much about his weird social theories haven’t you? For Belore’s sake, you’re both girls! You going together is a statement within itself, clothes be damned.” She rubbed her temple, unable to believe how complicated Sylvanas was making this. “What’s the second issue...”

“Second issue,” said Sylvanas, taking a deep breath. “I really, really don’t want to be mistaken for just another boy in a suit taking her.”

“Oh Syl...” Sheldaris pulled her friend into a gentle hug. “You won’t. Plus, you’re most comfortable in a suit aren’t you?”

“I am, which makes it all the more heartbreaking. People will just see tall-suit, short-gown and assume we’re just another boy-girl pair.”

“But you know you’re not, and that’s what counts.” Sheldaris patted Sylvanas’ back gently, massaging the back of her head. “It might even be safer for you that way, if some of the more unforgiving teachers mistaken you as otherwise.”

“Maybe...”

Sheldaris nodded. “That honestly sounds like the best option. Do I even need to ask you about option four? You in a gown, Jaina in a suit.”

Sylvanas pondered this for a moment. “I mean... it’d really mess with people’s preconceptions about gender roles, which Vor’Athil would get a real kick out of. But it’d leave us both as nervous wrecks so I don’t think that’d be very fun.”

“Yeah... nah,” said Sheldaris resolutely. “Stuff Vor and his social experiments honestly, just do what makes you feel safe and comfortable.”

Sylvanas laughed. “I’d say stuff Vor too but I need a favour from him still. For the Ball, incidentally. And I know he cares, deep down in that ashen heart of his.”

“Alright. You’d best go bug him then.” Sheldaris gave Sylvanas’ shoulders a squeeze before rising and stretching with a yawn. “Just put those worries about your outfits to rest. Check in with Jaina if she’s okay with the plan, and pick the best damn suit that’ll help you rock it on the ballroom floor, okay?”

Sylvanas rose to thank her friend with a crushing hug. “You can count on it.”

 

* * * * *

 

“Vor?”

“Sylvanas.”

The Head of Year was standing out in the yard at lunchtime, keeping watch of the students at play on the running track and outdoor field. There, a few boys from their year were engaged in a furious game of kick-ball, laughing and yelling and absolutely soaking their classroom uniforms with sweat and dirt.

Sylvanas sidled up next to him coolly. “I just wanted to check in on you.”

“You never just ‘check in’ on me, Windrunner, it’s usually because you have something you require from me. Not that I mind, talking about my feelings isn’t exactly my favourite pastime.”

“Well, you caught me red-handed,” huffed Sylvanas. “I just wanted to ask you a favour regarding the Ball. Are you going to be in the orchestra again this year?”

Vor’Athil nodded. “Once again, I’m ever the resident harpsichordist extraordinaire. Why do you ask?”

“I had a song to request, and was wondering if you could get the rest of the musicians onboard. Especially since you’d be playing the main part.”

“Perhaps. Which is it?”

Sylvanas leaned in dramatically to whisper in her friend’s ear. “The... Forbidden Waltz.”

Vor’Athil breathed in audibly. “Now that’s making a statement. I like your thinking. Consider it done.”

“Really? That’s it?” Sylvanas barely had to feign her shock. “No snide comments, no cruel bargaining conditions?”

“Please. I’m a big fan of the piece and it will be my pleasure to play it for you, to support you and Jaina’s dream dance.”

Sylvanas blushed in spite of herself. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Vor.” She bowed, turning to leave the field when she heard Vor’Athil speak up again softly, almost mournfully.

“I should be the one thanking you.”

Sylvanas stopped, glancing over her your shoulder. “Vor?...”

Vor’Athil sighed heavily. “You may be doing it for yourself chiefly, but just by being there and being a visible presence, you’re giving hope to other students who aren’t yet brave enough.” He turned his gaze out onto the field, where the boys were still playing ball; his eyes seemed to shine and fix especially on one boy with longer, slicked-back flaxen hair, and a duelling scar down his left eye. “I’ve been content to play the part of the accompanist in the background thus far. But before I graduate I hope I find the bravery and strength of will to do what you have done, and take someone to the ball whom I would be happy giving my heart to.”

Sylvanas nodded and smiled, her heart welling with understanding. “I hope that day comes sooner where you won’t feel like you have to hide it, Vor.” She walked back towards the academy, more determined than ever to see her plan through—to make the Ball a night to remember, not just for her and Jaina, but for all who might see and be emboldened by them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admission: None of the four main characters introduced thus are straight, dun dun dun.
> 
> And yes Vor’Athil is totally baby gay for little Lor’Themar.


	6. As Fete Would Have It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvanas is forced to rise early to attend the Midsummer Fete with an ever-enthusiastic Jaina. For a few happy hours together they are having the time of their lives, and it seems like nothing could go wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I have to split a chapter that should have been written as a standalone to begin with! I really did want to shoehorn the Ball in together with the Fete, but there’s two much happening in each to make that work. Chapter 7 will be all about the Midsummer Ball - with higher stakes, as this chapter will tell.
> 
> I took a lot of inspiration from going to a Balloon Festival with my partner, which was a fun outing even if brief, and gave me lots of fuel for things to do at a big carnival-style Fete.

There was a smattering of knocks on Sylvanas’ door. Sylvanas, still dozing, ignored it in favour of the company of her soft pillow and smooth sheets. The knocking continued persistently, before a rustling from the bunk beneath her and soft footsteps rose to receive the guest. A brief exchange of murmurs followed, one voice highly excited, before a flurry of footsteps approached Sylvanas and she was wrenched out of her rest by a volley of well-aimed pokes to her ribs.

Sylvanas could only respond with shrieks of laughter. She rose from her bed with a roar, looking quite like the vengeful spirit with her hair wildly tangled and her blanket wrapped messily over her body. The two culprits, Jaina and Sheldaris, looked up at her sheepishly.

“Come on now Sylvanas,” cried Jaina earnestly, “it’s Fete Day!”

Sylvanas let out a groan. “What time is it even...”

“Eight o’clock sharp,” Sheldaris replied.

“I need more rest after those hellish exams. I wasn’t planning on going in until 11 or 10 earliest. Jaina...” Sylvanas stared at both of her friends in turn, noting too that from her colourful outfit that her bunk-mate was also ready and raring to go. “And Sheldaris, you were already dressed waiting in bed?! Why are you both conspiring against my sleep...”

“There’s just too much to see to risk going late!” said Jaina, her eyes flashing with cheekiness. “Are you not my sweet guide and escort, sworn to show me the ins and outs of the Elven world? What would I tell the Headmistress and my Father if you left me to wander the Fete alone?”

“Okay, enough with the blackmail. Get out and let me change.”

Jaina giggled, happily obliging. Sheldaris too exited the room to wait in the hallway. Their chatter floated in through the dorm door as Sylvanas dashed about washing her face, brushing her hair, and selecting an outfit to not be outclassed by the two bubbly friends awaiting her.

She joined the others dressed in form-fitting black pants, sleek black boots, and thin cotton buttoned shirt under a deep magenta vest. Jaina wore an aquamarine blouse with white wave-pattern embroidery, over white pantaloons and russet brown walking shoes. Sheldaris was the most colourful among them, sporting a jester dress patterned with stripes and diamonds in purple, yellow and green, with matching chequerboard tights and purple Mary Janes. The three of them set off together in mostly high spirits for the Fete.

They ran into Vor’Athil at the entry gate to the fair, wearing bright orange silk trousers and a flowing, patterned green top. The hapless Head of Year was handing out flyers and maps to the attendants trickling in, directing any of those with queries to the stalls and attractions they were after. He gave his three friends a pained smile as they approached him.

“Roped into customer service again, Vor?” Sylvanas asked.

Vor’Athil screwed up his nose. “I’m a volunteer, not a conscript. As one of the student representatives it’s an honour to take on the role, excuse you.”

“Are you gonna be stuck here all day though?” asked Jaina.

“Not at all. The student council takes it in shifts so I should be done by before noon—just in time for the sparring tournament. Which I wouldn’t miss for the world... or rather I’d never hear the end of it from Sylvanas if I did.” Vor’Athil cleared his throat and handed a guide map to the spritely young human. “Now go forth and enjoy your first Fete!”

The trio grabbed breakfast from one of the food stalls near the entry—hearty sausage and egg flatbread wraps—to have on-the-fly as they began exploring. The number of stalls at the Fete was massive, quite easily matching the amount Sylvanas had to weave past on Silvermoon market day during her first trip to meet Jaina. Unlike back then, the stalls here were a much more varied mix of clothing, crafts, food and treats, as well as an entire lane of carnival games. The three friends breezed through the clothing section, Jaina and Sylvanas having had their fill from their shopping outing three weeks prior, though they took the time to admire some of the intricate ceremonial costumes there were on display, particularly the outfits with crests of Elven and Human nobility, and even some well-made replicas of Farstrider and Royal Guard uniform.

They spent longer exploring the treasures of the handicrafts stalls, which included some very ornate silver and bronze carved pendants, earrings, and rings, along with bracelets and bangles of precious crystals interwoven with fine beadwork. Sylvanas picked out a pair of silver carved snowflake earrings for Jaina, while Jaina in turn bought the elf a bronze pendant on a chain featuring a bow and arrow, formed by the moon and stars.

“Shall we wear these to the Ball?” asked Jaina with a smile. “My Madam Moonlight.”

“It would be a pleasure,” replied Sylvanas, bowing, “my Lady Snowstorm.”

When they moved onto the sweet treats section, they found stalls completely devoted to a particular treat—biscuits and cookies, or soft gummy lollies—as well as shops specialising in regional specialties, family businesses using their own recipes passed down over generations. Under Sheldaris’ guidance, Jaina soon found herself cradling a sizeable bag of assorted delicacies, having bought a sample pack from practically every stall they passed. “You won’t regret it!” Sheldaris promised, before parting with them to go browsing on her own.

Sylvanas and Jaina continued onwards together to the carnival games stalls. While Sylvanas dominated anything involving accuracy and speed, Jaina seemed to have freakishly good intuition and luck. The High Elf was merciless when knocking down bottles with balls, ring tossing, and dart throwing, but the little human shone when picking cards, scoring on laughing clown lottery, and pillaging the best from lucky dips. Together they managed to fill up another tote bag with quirky spoils—including several plush stuffed toy dragons, various wooden puzzles, and Gnommish steel gizmos—before moving on out of the stalls altogether onto the main open field.

“Let’s do dragonhawk rides next?” suggested Jaina, squinting out towards the section of field where the golden plumed beasts were penned. A great line was already snaking its way from the ride entry point. Jaina’s gaze honed in on the airborne animals, suddenly taken aback at seen the heavy rope mooring them by the saddle to steel pegs in the ground. “Sylvanas! Why are they tied down like that?!”

Sylvanas sighed, shaking her head disapprovingly. “Tethered rides. It’s partially to save on time and cost, keeping the dragonhawks in a smaller flight path and cutting out the need for an professional rider at the reins. It’s probably safer too, no risk of a beast getting spooked and taking a student or member of the public for a joyride across the sea.”

“But that’s bo-ring!” Jaina gave her most ardent pout. “For those poor beasts too I bet! I don’t want to stand in line for an hour just to ride what’s more or less a caged bird.”

“That makes two of us then,” said Sylvanas with a nod. “Let’s not bother lining up then, and check out the hawkstriders instead? Besides, I know somewhere where we can feed and ride dragonhawks, completely unrestrained. I can definitely take you there someday soon.”

Jaina’s eyes lit up with wonder. “Alright. Let’s.”

They walked over towards the bestiary pens, past the long queue of fairgoers—many among them were young city children, rowdily tugging at their parents’ shirts, dripping melted ice cream on their own clothes, beginning to whine and cry about how much longer it would take before their ride.

Sylvanas screwed up her nose as she passed them. “Ugh. Children.”

Jaina looked at her, confused. “Sylvanas. We’re both sixteen. We are children.”

“We’re teenagers, Jaina, it’s quite different!” Sylvanas hissed.

Jaina gave a small shrug. “Suit yourself. I think children can be quite cute, sometimes.”

“Ew,” muttered Sylvanas simply. “Disgusting.”

The queue for the Hawkstrider show was significantly shorter, it was barely a five minute wait before they were up close and personal with the tall, flightless avians. Even while lining up to wait, they could just make out the large birds in their pens through the entryway opening—preening their colourful feathers, pecking at the feed laid out for them, and tilting their heads to stare curiously at the crowd gathering to see them.

Entering with Sylvanas into the makeshift tent-barn where the birds were housed, Jaina ogled and oohed at the animals of all different breeds on show. There were of course the typical grey-feathered Silvermoon Silverlaces with its black-trimmed silvery feathers, sharp and tapering almost like dragon-scales but soft to the touch. Jaina had taken them for granted pulling carts around the city, but was delighted to see how friendly they were as they responded to her scritches and offerings of food. There was the goofy-looking White Silkie Strider with its fluffy fur-like down and almost Pom-Pom like head comb; the enormous Black Lorp with its heavyset legs, shimmering black feathers and large blackhole-like eyes; the Blue Devil with its long, arrow-shaped tail feathers and twin-horned comb; the Southern Red, towering above them with its long neck and legs, its call a gruff, barking roar and its hook-beaked face fierce; and the brilliant plumage and long-feathered crowns of the Purple and Green Hawkstriders.

They spent a good three-quarters of an hour in the Hawkstrider tent. Sylvanas looked after their bags as Jaina rotated between each bird—feeding them, petting them, even talking to them and getting inquisitive calls and crows back. By the time they both left, the human girl looked like she had just walked out of a religious experience.

“I need to get my hand on some of those when I grow up,” mused Jaina dreamily. “I’ll get a farm, and have like... fifty of them? Get a giant field for them to roam in, ride them and collect their eggs to sell and eat.”

Sylvanas scoffed. “You’ll be hard pressed have them imported into Kul’Tiras. I know diplomacy talks are in the works but these birds need the untouched wilds and woods of Quel’Thalas to thrive in.”

“Oh anything is possible, Sylvanas,” retorted Jaina. “Let a girl dream! Besides, who said anything about Kul’Tiras? Maybe I’ll be lucky and make home here in the heart of the Eversong woods.” Jaina shot her an impish grin. “I’d just need to settle down and date a nice local Elven girl.”

Sylvanas only averted her gaze and ignored the comment as they walked onwards, her ears doing their tell-tale twitch and blush.

Continuing their tour, they soon reached the archery range where there seemed to be some kind of commotion going on. The ranger students on duty were trying hard to maintain orderly use of the shooting targets, but a crowd of younger children had gathered around a particular rowdy child. It was a blonde grade-schooler with worn clothes and sharp-looking eyes, who had abandoned all intent of using the bow and arrows provided, and instead was flinging knives at the archery targets, cheered on by the kids behind her. The academy Juniors on duty looked desperately at Sylvanas for aid as she and Jaina approached.

Sylvanas paused to survey the scene. The knife-slinger girl was good. At the short and medium-ranged targets at 10 and 15 yards away, there were already half a dozen blades sunken firmly into the inner rings, mere inches from from bullseye. The girl readied another knife, twirling before the crowd of children and waving her hands as if conducting their chants, hyping them up to a peak—almost like a little gladiator before her audience. She took aim, balanced the knife pommel perfectly in her fingers, and threw—Shickt!—landing it dead-centre on the 20 yard target. The crowd of children gasped and cheered, and the little knife-thrower took a flourishing bow.

With a roll of her eyes, Sylvanas picked up a bow from a nearby rack, stepping slightly to the side of the younger ones. Clearing her throat, she notched an arrow, aimed carefully, and let fly. The shot pierced through the air and landed perfectly into the same target’s bullseye, knocking the knife formerly marking it cleanly down into the dirt.

The children all gasped, save for the knife-thrower, who gave an irritated huff. Sylvanas strode towards them, her face darkening like an eclipse. “The archery range is for archery practice only,” she snarled. “Any impudent child who need to be told this twice might soon find themselves being used as new shooting targets. Do I make myself clear?”

There were shrieks, screams, and outright tears as the crowd of children scattered. The knife-thrower girl was the only who remained, and she looked at Sylvanas with an expression of utter disdain. “You’re no fun, Windrunner,” she said, walking to the targets and replenishing her copious supply of knives one-by-one.

“I am simply keeping the peace,” replied Sylvanas. “If it were up to me everyone would be welcome to try out all matter of throwing weapons, if correctly supervised. But this isn’t my Fete, and someone less experienced might try to copy you and get hurt.” Her eyes narrowed as the girl returned with her stash of blades; the ranger-in-training scanned the delicate woodwork and metalwork on some of the hilts, recognition creeping in. “Wait a minute, those are...”

The girl gave a curt bow. “Not yours anymore,” she said, blowing raspberries and dashing away. She zig-zagged into the larger throng of fairgoers, disappearing out of sight before Sylvanas could even respond.

Jaina approached her friend from the side, her expression a mix of surprise and bemusement. “Maybe I can see now why you might hate children so fervently.”

Sylvanas cocked her head. “Valeera?... funny that, she’s actually a rebel after my own heart. While I only follow rules as far as it suits me, she doesn’t seem to care for them at all. We would probably get along if we weren’t born into such vastly different social classes. She’s a street rat, a thief—one who, it seems, stole two knives off me when last we met in Silvermoon. She has no respect for me, but I do hold some for her... I just don’t want her getting in trouble.”

“You like her?” asked Jaina, utterly baffled. “If that’s how you treat those you like then I’d hate to see you around enemies.”

The flaxen-haired elf shrugged. “I’m not liked by many. I’ve stopped trying to win people over and settled for scaring them off instead. That’s the only way I get respect most of the time.”

Jaina clenched her fists. “I like you, Sylvanas.”

Sylvanas’ heart nearly jumped out of her chest. She wanted so badly to ask the human what exactly she meant by that. There was so much in how Jaina interacted with her that could be construed as more than simple friendly liking, but she could just as well be imagining it all. She’d gotten it wrong before.

Jaina however seemed distracted. “Sylvanas, listen. That music...” Sylvanas tuned her ears, hearing indeed that there was a song starting up, of a familiar liveliness and timbre; there was something about it that was quintessentially Jaina. The human girl looked up at her expectantly. “Can we go check it out?”

Sylvanas only nodded, grateful to have her muddled musings put aside for now. “Let’s.”

They tracked the song back through the central field to the performance stage, where a musical trio consisting of tin whistle, fiddle, and hand drum were playing their first piece. It was a airy, lilting passage, the notes moving in quick groups of three against the drum beat, and Jaina seemed to respond to it intuitively, nodding her head in time and humming a soft harmony. “It’s a sea shanty!” she cried with delight. “I don’t know the words to this one, but it’s familiar, as if visiting sailors sung it while working. I should have guessed it might be known by the seaward or riverine elves of the coast too.”

Before long Jaina had shamelessly broken into a little tap dance, borrowing heavily from the Kul’Tiran step style. She was grinning and gesturing and mouthing enthusiastically for Sylvanas to join in. And against all better sense in her, Sylvanas did. She lined up next to Jaina and began to move with her, copying the dance as they had practiced together, adapting to the different pace and rhythms of the Elven trio. Her steps were shaky at first but they quickly attuned to the music, as she chanted the instructions in her mind until they became natural to her: one-two-three, two-two-three, three-two-three; standing on tiptoes, feet crossed and held adjacently at right angles, rear leg kicking behind and stepping forward, two quick steps with both feet.

As the music took hold of her body, Sylvanas found herself smiling and laughing alongside Jaina as they spun and kicked and stepped around each other. It was a joyous preview of the Ball dances to come. Their lively cheer seemed to resonate with the city-folk fairgoers around them, who stopped in curious admiration, some even daring to line up behind the two girls, copying their steps closely until they could move with the song. Even the musicians on the stage threw cheers and waves their way, responding to their energy with increased tempo, fast scale runs, and a dramatic key change to a higher pitch.

Before they knew it, the song was over. The crowd erupted into applause, not just for the musicians on stage, but also for the two friends who had added another physical dimension to the performance, and made others brave enough to try dancing alongside them. Sylvanas did not dare take a bow; Jaina gave light curtsy as she too applauded the performers who had gifted her this dance. She turned and pulled Sylvanas down into a close hug.

For the first time Sylvanas could remember, they were level in height, their cheeks brushing against each other as Jaina held her, and her arms closed in tentatively in response to cradle Jaina’s back. Jaina’s rosy, freckled face had such a warmth and pleasant scent it. Sylvanas could feel the little mage’s heartbeat against her chest. It was both a prolonged and too brief a moment, but she almost wished Jaina could have held her forever.

When they finally broke away from each other, Jaina’s grateful smile and twinkling eyes sent warm ripples of something heavenly through Sylvanas’ body, tangling her stomach into knots and unleashing a can of butterflies in her gut.

“I can’t get enough of moments like this with you,” said Jaina. “Thank you for being so great.”

“Me- me neither. And uh, you too.” This is too much, thought Sylvanas. I need to ask her. She could feel herself falling further and faster with every new thing they did together, every sweet thing Jaina said. It would be absolutely terrible if she let herself go down the rabbit-hole completely, and Jaina didn’t feel the same.

“Jaina...” she started.

Before she could say anything further, they were interrupted by a familiar short-statured man with silver hair and resplendent purple and green courtier’s clothes. He appeared to have been running for some time, sweat dripping down his brow and off his moustache, his booming voice punctuating his panting as he reached them.

“Miss Proudmoore, Miss Proudmoore,” he cried. “I bring news.”

“Mister Fizzbracket?” greeted Jaina. “What brings you here in such a hurry?”

The gnome known as Wulferd Fizzbracket wore a deadly serious frown. “Your father’s talks with the King are not going well. We still hold hope that Anasterian and his court may yet thaw in their coldness towards our proposals, but it has been over a month of diplomatic meetings with little agreement in sight.”

“What does this mean...” Jaina asked, worry creeping into her voice.

“It means your time with the Elves may be cut short,” said Fizzbracket, his face mournful. “It may be within the next week, or three, I do not know. But you should prepare for our return to Kul’Tiras if it becomes inevitable.”

“No...”

The gnome shook his head. “There is more. Your father has been concerned about your lack of contact with him during your stay in Quel’Thalas. He has made arrangements and obtained an invitation to be a guest of honour at the Midsummer Ball tomorrow night. He will be in attendance, along with several high-ranking nobles from the King’s court. They will survey and discuss your experience with Elven society together, taking it as an exemplar of human-elf relations. What he sees of you at the Ball may therefore directly impact upon alliance talks with Silvermoon, so I beseech you please: do not disappoint us.”

Jaina appeared shell-shocked, staring blankly through her father’s advisor. Seeing this, Sylvanas stepped in. “This isn’t fair on Jaina,” she said, her voice rising to a soft roar. “It is far too little notice to put that kind of pressure on her. What is the Lord Admiral thinking?”

Fizzbracket did not flinch at the towering elf standing above him. “The Lord Admiral does as he pleases. He loves her, and has utmost trust that she can be depended upon for the sake of her country’s future. He would only do this if he knew it would help her grow too.”

He bowed, turning to leave, before pausing in his tracks. “One last thing. Whilst we still hope that the tone of diplomacy talks will change for the best and that your learning here may continue, there are ill rumours from home that further weigh on us. It is said that Tandred’s condition may be worsening. If this proves to be more than conjecture, then the Tides have spoken and nothing will keep us from returning to Boralus, no matter the outcome tomorrow or of your father’s talks. Good luck, Jaina.”

There was an icy stillness in the air after the gnome left. The Fete kept on moving about them, the crowds still bustled, and sounds of laughter, music, and haggling were still audible amidst the throng. But wracked by the news that had just broken, and seeing the terror in Jaina’s eyes, everything to Sylvanas seemed duller, muted, almost in slow motion.

“Jaina,” she asked, after what felt like an eternity. “Are you oka–”

“No!” said Jaina. And instantly, lightning clove the sky above them in two, the previously bright and sunny blue giving into clouds, into storm clouds, into a fierce, relentless rain. Thunder crashed and howling wind rushed through the school field, tearing at tents and stalls, scattering balloons and crafts and little children alike.

In the distance, Vor’Athil came striding towards them, chanting through an amplifier cone at the panicked crowd what Sylvanas already well knew. “Wild weather, wild weather. The Fete will now close. I repeat, the Fete is now over. All guests please seek shelter in the school building until the storm is over. All students, please assist with emergency disassembly and packing up of the stalls, tents, pens, stage, and stadium seating. All musical acts that have yet to perform will continue in the indoor gymnasium, at performers’ discretion. The weapons-sparring tournament will unfortunately have to be postponed, if not cancelled outright, pending a school decision.”

“The sparring tournament...” said Jaina, her speech slow, almost monotone. Her gaze still hovered emptily in the direction of where Fizzbracket had left from. “I’m... sorry... Sylvanas.”

“Jaina, no it’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

“It is,” said Jaina simply, just as another streak of lightning pierced through the heavens. “You should go... help your classmates. I need to be alone.”

“But there’s still more music performances to come in the gym. I could meet you there. We could dance, just as before...”

“No.” There was a renewed firmness, a sharpness like anger in Jaina’s voice, almost like that time back in the cemetery. “I can’t bear it. The thought of another joyful moment with you today, after what we’ve just been told, after knowing moments like that might be numbered. I can’t.” She looked at Sylvanas finally; her eyes were reddened and squinting, but it was hard to tell whether she was cryingwith the rainwater streaking down her face.

Sylvanas was at a loss, choking on her own words. “Will I. See you at the Ball?”

“Yes. Of course. I wouldn’t let anything take away from being your ball partner, pressure from my father aside. I just need time to recover and prepare for it, alone.”

“Alright. Good luck.”

It was all the High Elf could say, as Jaina snapped her gaze away. Cradling and tucking the soaked bags of sweets and carnival prizes protectively under her chin, the little mage marched back towards the solace of her room, away from the howling storm. Away from the crestfallen Sylvanas.


End file.
